The World Ahead
by ScarlettAriandale
Summary: After spending three weeks as the prisoner of a pack of trolls, traveling in the company of a hobbit, a wizard, and thirteen dwarves seems a far safer option. But things move quickly in the company of Thorin Oakenshield, and Sylven will have to decide between what is right and what is easy. (Rated M to cover all bases)
1. Chapter 1: The Lady and the Burglar

Sylven yelped as the enormous hand plucked her up off the ground by her hands, bound in thick prickly twine. The hand was so large, that when it lifted her it used only two fingers, pinching her like one might pick up an unfavourable article of clothing.

Her arms yanked painfully as her ascent halted suddenly, and she found herself dangling dangerously high above the ground, on level with the single ugliest face she had seen in the relatively brief expanse of her life. With one eye the silver of pale stone, and the other completely mucus white, the troll tilted its head slightly to get a better look at her. "Gah, stop wigglin will yeah? I'm hungry, and just cause William's out findin food don't mean you ain't good enough for the appetizer!"

She had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out as Bert the troll gave her a good shake, forcing her to swing like a pendulum from her wrists, all the while she joints threatening to pull from whatever it was holding her all together.

Three weeks. Three weeks they had been traveling. Twenty days in caves that smelt even worse than the trolls themselves, and this was the twenty first night of being dangled and manhandled, threatened and brutalized. And in all that time, they had found no one. When the trolls had set upon her camp, Sylven had been asleep in her tent by the side of the woman she had been serving since near childhood. Lady Seibel was old and kind and sharper of wit than any woman of wealthy stock that Sylven had ever seen, and it was Lady Seibel she had to thank for surviving this long. While the men fought Seibel grabbed Sylven and stuck on her every bit of jewelry and finery she could find. Just as the roof of the tent twisted in the fist of a troll, Lady Seibel thrust her hand mirror into the hand of her serving girl, then shoved her under the bed.

Sylven had been uncovered shortly after, and as the trolls Tom and William squashed the knights and Sylven stood paralyzed, Seibel spun a tale of how it was _Sylven_ who was the lady, of a great house that had fallen from fortune, and that they had been on their way to uncover the great treasure horde of her ancestors in order to get the coffers flowing once more. So for all this time Sylven had been directing them in utterly nonsense directions, praying they'd come across someone who could save her. They had come across a wealth of wildlife, and the night before a farmhouse with an elderly man and his wife, instead. She'd spent last day awake, their screams rattling around her mind. She didn't dare sleep, she knew their faces would join those she had traveled with – bloody and mutated and rotten. Worst always was when she came face to face with her Lady, and Seibel would look at her sadly.

"_Do you have no guile of your own? Where you so indifferent to all that I taught you, than now you continue to survive on my lie? How much longer, do you suppose it will sate them?_"

Not one more night, Sylven expected.

"I think she's stringing us along!" Tom whined as Bert dropped her unceremoniously into the pen they had constructed for her to share with this night's catch. "Let's just eat her!"

"How about it, Lady? Should we just eat you instead?" Bert grinned at her, and that by far more terrifying than the scowl.

"But we're almost there!" She said, trying to make herself sound more disappointed than terrified. "Two days, and you'll have more valuables than that cave can contain!"

Bert grunted and Tom complained loudly. Bert jabbed at the fire angrily, eyeing the massive pot of what these things passed for stew. She had survived on rations she'd taken from her friend's packs, but she'd run out two days ago and the hungry was drawing her thin. Still, not even that could make troll food appealing.

The ground trembled, and she looked around her as little pebbles leapt like tiny pond fish as William came lumbering out of the woods, and large struggling creature under each arm.

"Mutton yesterday, mutton tonight, and blight, if it don't look like mutton again tomorrow!" Bert snarled, glowering at William as he moved past toward the pen.

"Quite your whining! These ain't sheep!" William snorted. "These is Westnads!"

"Oh I don't like horse, I never have! Not enough fat on them." Tom shook his head morosely, turning his back on the pen. They'd all but forgotten her already. Sylven stayed absolutely still as William plunked the terrified ponies down into the pen. When he'd moved away to sit down, she leaned forward to examine the animals. Four ponies? And so well groomed?

Despite herself, she felt a lurch of hope. She looked around the dark of the forest, trying in vain to see anything.

"Well better than some leathery old farmer." Bert pointed out. "All skin and bone he was. I'm still picking bits of him out of my teeth."

Tom let out a loud gasp and then sneezed, and all Sylven had to hear was the plunk to understand the loud complaining from Bert that followed. She watched Tom stiffen as he went to add some more snot to the dinner, before Bert clamped down on his nose. Tom began wailing, and Bert shoved him back barking, "Settle down!"

It was as Tom whipped out a large mass of cloth to blow his nose that she saw him – the tiny figure at the edge of the pen. The moonlight made his small hands pale as they worked against the thickly tied ropes trying to undo the pen door. The ponies snorted and threw their heads in agitation. Sylven almost didn't dare to move, till she saw his little face. A child?

She scrambled across the pen, giving the frightened animals a wide berth. The child flinched as she fell onto her knees in front of him. She had no idea what she looked like, but she must have been hideous. The weeks hadn't been kind – she had a cut above her brow where she'd hit the wood fence of one when with Tom had dropped her lazily, and weeks of spending time in troll caves made her rich purple clothes go a distinct shade of dried blood – something she'd never before been able to name the color of. Her hair was matted, her face streaked with dirt, she must have looked scarce better than the company she'd kept. No wonder he lurched back when she whispered franticly, "Please help me!"

After a moment of staring, he took a step closer. That was when she noticed the ears – pointed, like elves were supposed to be. His face held none of the roundness of a child, and his clothes were adult in their cut. The little man came towards her, and whispered back, "Who – are you alright?"

She scrambled back as Tom came lumbering over, examining the horses. "Are we gunna gut these nads? I don't like the stinky parts."

A loud ting noise as Bert clubbed Tom over the head with a pot, and whimpering Tom returned to his seat as Bert growled, "I said sit down!"

Sylven rushed back to the man as he returned to the corner. She shook her head, glancing nervously at her captors as they began discussing Bert's culinary abilities. "Get me out, then I will be."

The man tugged fretfully on the ropes. "I can't get them off."

She looked around desperately, looking for anything.

"Oh." He said softly, and she looked up to find him watching Tom. She followed his gaze, and felt her breath flood out between her lips. He had a makeshift blade – a hooked sharpened shard of metal thrust into a long branch. Sharp enough for rope cutting.

"There has to be something else." She hissed, crouching to scour the ground.

"It's alright – I'm a burglar." The little man tried to smile at her, but it wilted.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "Don't. They'll eat you if they catch you."

"What's your name?" The little man leaned forward. With her crouched, they were on level with each other.

"Sylven." She did then what she never expected to do again. She smiled.

He smiled to, and offered out his hand. "My name is Bilbo Baggins. And I'm here to save you."

She took his hand in both of hers, since they were bound, and shook. "Well then, that makes you either the biggest liar I've met, or the best friend I've ever had."

He laughed faintly, looking at the trolls. "Alright."

"Wait!" She begged, but little Bilbo Baggins was already moving forward. He whispered comfort to the ponies, crawling over the bone littered ground. He froze as Tom reached a hand out blindly, skimming the air above him before snatching up the little pot off a rock beside Bert. Bert gnashed his teeth. "Hey! That's my grog!"

Tom warbled out, "Sorry!" then Bert struck him sending him teetering onto his back, falling against the ground before he righted himself again. Sylven couldn't breathe, watching out close he came to flattening poor Bilbo. She couldn't focus on what they were saying anymore as he scampered over behind Tom, examining the blade.

Bilbo started doing strange things with his hands, tilting them this way and that. He went to grab it, and then ducked down as Tom stood up to scratch himself. The little man shuttered, looking away until Tom righted himself and settled down. Sylven pressed herself against the pen, leaning forward as she stood slowly, gradually, hands reaching towards the blade and –

She had to cover her mouth to stifle the scream as Tom reached back and grabbed Bilbo in his handkerchief, and lifted him forward and blew. As he pulled the handkerchief back, Tom shrieked. "Blimey! Look! LOOK! Look what's come out of me hooter! It's got arms and legs and everything!"

The trolls crowded round, examining Bilbo now no doubt covered in slime.

"What is it?" Bert wondered.

"I dunno! But I don't like the way it wriggles around!"

Tom chucked Bilbo, and he flew through the air onto the ground on the other side of the fire. He landed in a roll, and staggered quickly to his feet, wide eyed and frantic as the trolls began to spread out. William picked up his cleaver, brandishing it at the Halfling. "What are you then? And oversized squwel?"

"I'm a burgl – a – a hobbit." Bilbo bleated.

Tom craned his neck back. "A burglahobbit?"

"Can we cook him?" William suggested.

Tom lips pulled back in a gigantic grin. "We can try."

He took a swipe and Bilbo ducked, trying to make a run for the trees, but there was Bert – huge even as he crouched, ready to grab Bilbo if he tried to dodge around. "He wouldn't make more than a mouthful. Not when he's skin an' bone."

He swiped forward with the spoon he was using on the stew, hitting Bilbo in the stomach and knocking him back towards William. Bilbo turned, throwing up his hands as William jabbed at his stomach with the blunt end of the cleaver. "Perhaps there are more burglahobbit's around these parts. Enough for a bite!"

He shoved and Bilbo staggered back, ducking at Bert went to hit him again and then running through Tom's arms as he tried to scoop him up. Sylven looked around wildly for something, _anything_ to get her hands free. She dropped to her kneels, running her hands around in the darkness. She looked past the gate, to the series of bones littering the earth.

"It's too quick!" Tom howled. Bilbo ran between Tom's legs, and just as he ran past the pen William stuck out his arm and grabbed the Halfling in a fist, lifting him into the air triumphantly. He had Bilbo by the legs, so he dangled him upside-down over the stew pot as his friends gathered. "Are there anymore of you fellas hiding where you shouldn't?"

Bilbo looked around. "Nope."

"He's lying!" Tom hissed.

"No I'm not!"

"Hold his toes over the fire!" Tom cackled, as Sylven wedged a bone shard between her feet and began sawing her bindings with it. "Make him squeal!"

That was when there came the swish and thunk of sword severing flesh, and in a dark blur another half man drew an ungodly wail from Tom as he sliced the back of his leg. Tom lifted the injured limb and the man swung again, slicing open his foot and sending him tumbling down. The half man ran to the opposite side the fire, holding the sword at his side as he roared, "Drop him!"

"You what?" William squinted at him.

The half man smiled, his long dark hair half in his face. He swung his sword in a circle, fluent and easy as if he'd carried the sword his entire life. "I said, drop him."

William sneered, and threw Bilbo at the warrior. Bilbo cried out as he hurtled through the air, the other man dropping his sword in order to catch the flying Halfling. But as he went down, from the woods came a stream of little men. Little men, with swords and axes and hammers.


	2. Chapter 2: Dwarven Delicacy

Dwarves. That's all they could possibly be, though Sylven had never seen one in her life. They were short and thick and harry, and they cried out words in a tongue entirely foreign to her. And yet they moved like water, unstoppable and never truly separating. It was as if each half man knew what the others would do long before they did it, and it made their fighting more like a performance than a battle. The trolls turned and swatted and snarled and screamed, but like a hive of bees the fighters were impossible to guard against. Whenever a troll grabbed hold of a dwarf, there was another ready to cut their comrade free.

Sylven worked madly against the ropes on her wrists, the bone making a slow and mangled work of the bindings. She thought of calling out for help, but even if one of the warriors heard her it might open up an opportunity for one of the trolls. The best she could do was keep to a corner out of range of the ponies who thrashed and kicked and stomped angrily.

That was when Bilbo appeared, and held clasped in his miniature hands was the massive claw like weapon of Tom. Sylven grinned, rushing over and holding her arms out. "Get them off me – I can climb out."

Carefully he wedged the blade between her arms and began pumping it back and forth. Where the bone had simply made gaps between the fibres the sharpened edge began to slice. There was a snap, and Bilbo dropped the knife and reached forward, pulling the rope out and beginning to unwind it from her arms. It loosened, and finally she wiggled free, dropping the rope onto the ground. She was surprised by the pain that shot up her arms, and looked down to realize they were littered in cuts from the coarse material of the ropes. She tried not to let Bilbo see them as she hissed, "Start on the gate – we better get the ponies free."

He began again at the other ropes as she grabbed the wood beams of the pen, hoisting herself up and swinging a leg over. She fell unceremoniously onto the ground of the other side, yelping and scrambling up as she realized she'd fallen into the bones of the farmer and his wife. She turned to look towards the battle, and that was when she saw William staring back at her, advancing with massive strides.

The ropes snapped and Bilbo shoved the gate wide, the ponies rushing out in a flood of their own, with no obvious intention of ever stopping.

"Bilbo!" Sylven warned, turning and dodging into the brush of the trees. Her dress caught and snagged and trapped her, but behind the cover of trees she was covered compared to Bilbo. He tried to run but again William's quick snatch found him crushed in a fist. He swept past, and Sylven struggled furiously to free herself as William went tromping back with his prize. With a loud rip she came loose, and ran forward into the fray shouting, "Help him! He's got Bilbo!"

She grunted as one of the half men rammed into her, knocking her onto her back. He turned to look at her, blinking as if _she_ was the strangest thing he'd seen that day. She pushed herself up to sitting position, pushing her hair out of the way and looking up to find the very first of the company she'd seen – the dwarf with the long hair.

"What are you doing?" He cried, rushing forward and hoisting her up. The dwarves had begun to fight their way back, moving into a bundle, so he dragged her towards them. "You need to get away!"

"They have him!" is all she got out before she was shoved to the back of the pack of warriors, and then all turned to face as the trolls gathered on the other side of the fire.

Sylven followed all eyes, unable to look away even as the dwarf she'd run into cried out, "Bilbo!" and tried to run to the aid of the little burglar. The dwarf beside him held him back, grunting, "No."

Sylven was with the one she'd run into, however. Bilbo looked petrified, suspended in the air as Bert and William each held an arm and a leg. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he'd tried to save her when he did have to, or the way he'd tried to comfort her, but Sylven could not bear to turn and slip into the woods she found herself pressed against. She couldn't go now, and never know what came of him.

"Lay down your arms," William warned. "Or we'll wip his off!"

The dwarves all looked to one, the same who had held back the run-in dwarf. From where she stood Sylven could make out little apart from the black mane of hair and pale fur draped over his shoulders, but the way the others waited for his response marked him as the leader.

After a moment, the leader drove his sword point into the earth. The warriors waited only a little longer, then angrily and reluctantly dropped their weapons to the ground. She should have run then, when she wouldn't have been missed. But the opportunity came and went, and Sylven found herself immobile. It seemed Bilbo Baggins was a liar after all.

Tom dropped an armful of logs onto the fire, the flames swelling to snap eagerly at the dwarves rotating on a thin tree trunk fashioned into a spit. There were several of them on there, all facing outward in a single squirming, complaining mass. Sylven had been forced to help put the dwarves into sack's that had been taken from the farmer's house, and with some rope tie them up into little pouches. Bilbo hadn't been able to look her in the eye, and she kept muttering apologies to the dwarves as she laced them up. The run-in dwarf gave her a crooked smile, but that seemed more like him trying to be brave than him trying to alert her to this being part of the rescue.

After the sack dwarves were secured, her hands were bound again and Bert hung her by the ropes from a tree branch. Within minutes all the muscles of her arms and sides were burning. Still, it beat having actual flames applied, she supposed.

"Don't bother cookin' em!" Tom advised. "Let's just sit on em' and squash em' into jelly!"

"They shall be sautéed," Bert snorted. "and grilled, with a sprinkle of sage."

"Oh, that does sound quite nice." Tom admitted, smacking his lips.

"Never mind the seasoning, we ain't got all night!" William snarled. "Dawn ain't far away, let's get a move on! I don't fancy being turned to stone."

Sylven's eyes widened and she looked to her right where a massive boulder blocked her view of the horizon. William was right, the sun she hadn't seen in the last three weeks had begun to brighten the heavens, stars giving way as the sky changed from navy to delicate yellow tinged blue. She looked to the sack dwarves, as sudden Bilbo cried out, "Wait! You are making a _terrible_ mistake."

"You can't reason with them. They're half-wits!" Called a dwarf as he revolved around the fire.

"Half-wits, what does that make us?" Another grumbled.

Bilbo struggled and managed to get to his feet. He took a couple hops forward as the trolls eyed him skeptically. "I meant with the, with the seasoning."

"What about the seasoning?" Bert wanted to know, crouching down to frown at him.

"Well have you smelt them," Bilbo laughed. "You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up."

The dwarves began to struggle in their sacks, calling out complains and curses.

"What do you mean?"

"Traitor!"

"I don't smell!"

"What do you know about cooking dwarf?" William sneered.

"Shut up!" Bert snapped. "Let the uh… flurblaburglahobbit talk."

"Yes, the uh, the secret to cooking dwarf is…" Bilbo halted suddenly, eyes going wide.

"Yes?" Bert urged. "Come on, tell us the secret!"

Bilbo looked about frantically. "Yes, I'm trying! The secret is to, uh…"

It was the faulty signature of someone who didn't make a habit of lying. The inevitable inability to come up with something. Sylven could see Bert growing impatient – if he didn't get an answer soon, he'd eat Bilbo raw.

She heard herself shouting before she even thought to do so. "The secret to cooking dwarf is to skin them first!"

Bert pulled his head back, looking to her in surprise. There was a moment of silence amongst the dwarves, and then they erupted into protests and shouts.

"Tom, get me filleting knife!" Bert shouted.

"What a loud of wubbish!" William shook his head. "I've had plenty with their skins on! Stuff em' I say, boots and all."

Sylven wasn't sure what Bilbo was looking at in the woods, but she hoped it was the next part to his master plan.

Tom came over to the dwarfs, plucking up the fattest one. "He's right! Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!" He lifted the half man over his mouth. "Nice and crunchy!"

"Not – not that one he's infected!" Bilbo squeaked.

Tom and the dwarf looked at him in unison. William stopped cranking the spit for a moment. "You wha'?"

Bilbo blurted on, "Yeah, he's got worms, in his… tubes."

"Ugh!" Tom recoiled in disgust, chucking the fat dwarf back amongst the others who groaned at the weight.

"In fact, they all have," Bilbo continued. "They're infest with parasites, I wouldn't risk it – I really wouldn't."

"Did he say parasites?"

"Yeah we don't have parasites!"

"You have parasites!"

Suddenly the leader shoved the run-in dwarf sharply. They all dropped silent, and you could almost hear the gears squeak from disuse as they thought about it for a minute. This time, they exploded into a very different tune.

"I have parasites as big as my arm!"

"Mine are the biggest parasites. I have _huge_ parasites!"

"I'm riddled!"

"Yes, we're riddled!"

William moved away from the spit, crouching to glower at Bilbo. "What would you have us do then? Let em' all go?"

Sylven shook her head sharply, but he didn't see. The trolls might be numbskulls, but William was sharper and more suspicious than the rest.

"Well," Bilbo stuck out his lower lip as if contemplating it.

William shoved him sharply. "You think I don't know what your doin'?"

"You should eat me!"

The trolls looked to Sylven, who had to bleat out the rest to keep from freezing up. "Give them a few days, worms will be out of the tubes, they'll be prime for, uh, skinning. Let's face it, I've been lying to you boys for weeks, there isn't any treasure! I mean really," she found herself laughing nervously. "What are you? A bunch of smell, ugly, knuckle dragging illiterates? Humans don't put their treasure in holes! We're too busy spending it and showing it off!"

"WHAT?" Bert roared, swinging round and snatching her off the branch. He gripped her so tight she expected her head to come popping off. He began shaking her like a beggar's cup of change. "WHAT'YEAH MEAN THERE AIN'T NO TREASURE?"

"That little ferret has been taking us for fools!" William crowed triumphantly. "I towld you!"

Then up on the rock came a figure, tall and narrow and cloaked in a trim of brilliant blessed daylight. When he spoke, his voice echoed off the trees. "The dawn with take you all!"

"Who's that?" William groaned.

Bert stopped shaking to look at the man. "No idea."

Tom perked up. "Can we eat em' to?"

The man wielded a staff, and this he thrust into the ground, sidestepping as the rock cleaved in two, falling back to reveal a veil of the morning glow. The trolls shrieked and snorted and howled, and Bert dropped Sylven as he rushed to cover his eyes. As the monsters skin met sunlight it fizzled and cracked, turning a lifeless grey as flesh transformed to stone. Within seconds it was done, and the three behemoths stood hunched and snarling – three of the most terrifying statues Sylven had ever seen.

Everyone sat in stunned silence, and then the dwarves burst into laughter and cheers.


	3. Chapter 3: Of Things Lost and Found

Sylven stood back beside a tree after freeing the dwarves from their sacks and helping in smothering the fire and freeing those tied to the large log. She watched them pat each other's backs and begin embellishing the parts the played in the battle before, and found herself oddly… peacefully. She'd expected jubilance when she thought of herself being rescued. She'd always somehow imagined tall strapping men with dark roguish eyes and glittering armour, yet this felt… right. There was a brightness in the spirits of these half men, it made them seem more alive than any she'd met before.

Lady Siebel had a few men who had seen battle on her estate for protection, but they had always seemed to Sylven like tools made of stone – chipped and scared and archaic. Battle had worn those men to ghosts bound in bodies, but the dwarves seemed to deflect the grimness of the occasion and instead absorb only the glory the battle brought them.

And she had a stake in the victory. Never before in her dreams of freedom had she envisioned that. She felt a prickle of pride, and even satisfaction that she'd had a hand in ending the monsters that had killed Lady Siebel.

But of course, that left the question: what now?

She found herself watching the leader of the company, and the elder who had saved them all with his trick. He was a wizard – he had to be. Siebel had read her stories about wizards saving endangered travelers and counselling kings, but Sylven had never expected to see one. He and the leader stood conversing in an odd balance of power, neither giving ground and yet there was no unease. She wondered what they would do with her, now the danger had passed. Surely they wouldn't leave her – there was no honor in abandoning a woman in the woods to find her way to safety. They saw that, did they not?

"Skin them first?"

Sylven looked to her side to find the run-in dwarf standing trying to supress a grin, one of his brows raised. Suddenly very conscious of the fact she reeked of troll, Sylven shifted her shoulders and replied, in a mock deep voice, "I don't have parasites!"

The grin split across his face, lighting up his features. It was surprising, somehow, that he was handsome. She'd always pictured dwarves as burly angry fellows with an abundance of facial hair, but Kili had a simple brush of stubble, and he wasn't so bulgingly muscular. He certainly had the roguish dark eyes.

"I'm Sylven." She said cautiously, feeling herself beginning to smile again. It seemed contagious around these little men.

"Kili, at your service." Kili gave a flourishing bow, then popped back up. "Lucky you turned up when you did – I'd hate to think we'd died only to make an unpleasant meal."

"Actually it was you all who turned up on me." She said sticking her nose up in the air teasingly. "I was living a perfectly charmed life of troll caves and travel, seeing the world."

"My apologies, it was so inconsiderate of us to intervene." Kili looked aghast. "Only your friends had our burglar, and we do like to keep him for ourselves you see."

She shrugged. "Ah, well, what could be done then? It seems we were all helpless steered towards each other. So, who are they all?"

He followed her gesture towards the company and grinned. "Oh, well that's Ori, Nori and Dori." He pointed to a slingshot bearing dwarf, the one with three pointy bits of hair, and a grey haired dwarf with a massively braided beard. Then he pointed to the fat one, talking with the strange hat one and the dwarf that looked like he had a bit of something lodged in his skull. "Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, oh and that's my brother Fili." He pointed to the blonde dwarf, laughing and gripping Bilbo's shoulder.

"Then there's Oin and Gloin," the two most harry dwarves, "and Balin and Dwalin." The white haired one with the forked bear, and the bald tattooed one. "And you met Bilbo, yes?"

"Yes. Well…" Sylven laughed weakly. "That won't be difficult to remember at all."

She went to push her hair off her face, and then winced. One of the dwarves – the silly hatted one, Bofur? – had cut off the ropes binding her, but her wrap forearms felt worse than ever, never mind her still damaged forehead. Kili saw the action and frowned suddenly. "We have some water – we should get those cuts washed and bound."

She nodded, choosing to instead push her hair over her brow again. She knew perfectly well how to dress the wounds of others, but being hurt herself was something of a new experience. Until the night the trolls attacked her camp the gravest of her injuries had been scraped knees and purpled bruises. The idea of cool water on her heated skin was far too tempting to refuse. She followed him towards the others, and was just waiting for him to retrieve the waterskin from his pack when there came the call, "Girl?"

She looked over her shoulder as the leader approached, the wizard following after. "You traveled with the trolls?"

"I -" Sylven glanced leerily around as the dwarves quieted down. "Yes."

"They had a cave near here?" The leader persisted, looking at her expectantly.

Sylven felt the blood leave her face. "Yes."

"Would you be able to find the way back to it?" The wizard cut in, seeming to sense her unease.

Sylven grimaced, looking to the mountains to the north. "The smell makes it rather easy to locate."

"Everyone gather your things. We press on, to the troll cave." The leader called, and the dwarves stirred eagerly.

The leader moved to turn and Sylven stepped closer quickly. "And what of me? You can't just leave me – I'm not equipped to handle the woods."

He looked to her in surprise, but the wizard intervened. "You will travel with us, of course." He smiled, and she was struck by the kindness that radiated from him, like he carried sunlight within himself. "At least until we find somewhere safe and to your liking."

The leader looked to the wizard grimly then nodded. "Of course. Kili?"

Kili appeared beside her, his waterskin and a cloth in hand. "Uncle?"

"See that our guest doesn't fall behind or get… lost." With that the leader turned and left them, going to attend to his own possessions as the others began packing. Sylven felt oddly embarrassed, as if she'd disappointed the man somehow – which was utterly stupid. Didn't he have her to thank – at least in part – for distracting the trolls? The wizard gave her a gentle nod then went to see to other matters.

"That's your uncle?" Sylven looked to Kili in disbelief.

"Don't worry." Bilbo walked up beside her, a little pack loaded onto his back. "He doesn't like me either."

The ponies had, apparently, staged a revolution in light of being seized by massive creature's intent on snacking on them. Though Bilbo assured her there had been sixteen miniature horses, none remained by the farmhouse where the dwarves, hobbit, and wizard had made their camp. So they pressed on by foot, with the leader – Thorin, Bilbo had given her the name for the perpetually ill-tempered half man – taking point. Since she was directing them, Sylven was forced to follow after him.

As if sensing her unease, Bilbo kindly took up his walk beside her, even though he struggled to keep pace with her strides which were almost twice his own. Kili and his brother Fili followed after them, keeping up a stream of conversation as the other dwarves did. It seemed Thorin had missed some vital gene – all the others were a perfectly delightful company if their socialness was any gauge. Even the wizard, who had taken a place near the back of the group, was having a conversation with Ori about the best pipes they'd ever owned.

"So you're a…" Sylven looked to Bilbo, feeling it would be rude not to talk. As she walked, she tied the fresh scraps of dampened cloth Kili had given her around her arms and hands, tying them off so they'd stay.

"Hobbit." He supplied. "From the Shire."

"Oh? I've never been." Sylven tried to picture a village of little people. How tiny their children were, she couldn't begin to guess. "What is it like?"

"The Shire?" Bilbo let out a gust of breath. "Green. It's like its own world, completely different from this one. Nothing changes – change is… well it's not really the Shire with change. But the company is good, the food better, and you couldn't ask for an easier life to get on with."

"He fails to mention they live in holes in the ground." Kili called forward.

"And all the doors look the same." Fili added.

Bilbo shook his head and Sylven looked critically over her shoulder. "Don't dwarves?"

Kili frowned. "Of course not! We build our kingdoms inside mountains! It's completely different."

"Sounds like ground to me." Sylven shrugged, smirking as she saw Thorin's head turn partially her way. "I'm sure Hobbit homes are a lot warmer."

"And it's not really like a hole – I mean there's no dirt or roots." Bilbo added swiftly.

"Which way now?" Thorin interrupted.

"North. It's a cave at the bottom of that mountain." Sylven pointed, but it was unnecessary as Thorin wasn't looking at her. It bothered her more than it should have, and she began to pick up her pace, grabbing her skirts in her hands in order to increase her speed without tripping. "I can lead if you like."

He wasn't willing to argue. "Fine." He grunted, letting her pass and robbing her of any satisfaction. Still, she couldn't drop back now, and so Sylven continued on, slowing a little so she wouldn't leave them behind. It took close to an hour for the forest floor to begin cracking with rocks and slates of stone. It hadn't taken nearly as long with the trolls carrying her, but they were considerably larger and swifter. She found her feet grew heavier as they got closer to the cave, and she began to smell the rot and filth again. Unwilling to look like a craven in front of Thorin Backside-Painer, she pressed on, and covered her mouth with the sleeve of her dress which proved little better.

When they came upon the mouth of the cave she halted, waving at it in mock pomp and ceremony. "The Troll Tavern, home of bones and many shiny objects."

The wizard came up beside her, gazing into the darkened pit. "How long did you spend here?"

"Two days." She answered, eyeing the entrance. "They burrowed a path from another cave to this one – my things are in there."

"You can stay back if you like." Thorin grunted, covering his mouth his arm.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he if saw he didn't mention it. The wizard moved forward, into the darkness, and Thorin after him. Kili stopped beside her, giving her that crooked smile again. He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She laughed, and though she had to stoop slightly she took his arm appreciatively. She didn't relish the thought of descending into the dark ever again.


	4. Chapter 4: Over Hill and Under Mountain

She let Kili's arm go almost instantly – the smell was too strong, and soon everyone was choking and gagging. Kili's face screwed up and he cursed, "What is that _stench_?"

"It's a troll cave." The wizard said, almost amused. "Be careful what you touch."

It was good, if hard to follow advice. Packed against the walls the mounds of treasure glowed in the sparse light. Coins, goblets, jewels, glittering weapons. It was enough to turn the head of the any man, whether he valued the material world or no. But look closer, and you could see bones amongst the riches – some with bits of flesh still clinging in the midst of decomposition – which accounted for most the smell. Sylven moved through the dwarves as they began examining chests and jewels, discussing the treasure amongst themselves.

It might have been wiser to begin collecting coins and small valuables, but Sylven instead found herself hunting for a single chest – tiny, made of dark wood, and carved with a scene of lovers hiding in the woods. She found it further into the back, where she had to squint despite the torches the dwarves had quickly constructed. The box was thrown carelessly in a pile of cloth of some kind, after aggravating the trolls with its apparent simplicity. She stopped in front of it, reaching out to run a hand along the grooved top. She dropped to her knees, ignoring the sludge that stained her already ruined dress. Instead she felt in the darkness for the latch along the side left corner, near the front of the chest where there was a small ghoulish face. She felt the imprint on her thumb and pushed it, and the latch gave a satisfying click.

She pushed up the lid, and from the tightly sealed compartment came a brief rush of herbs and crisp smelling ointments. She moved her hands over the small trove of wonders, a bundle of milkwood bark for making a tea to ease pains, jars of ointment to sooth coughs and overextended muscles, a little wax sealed pot she knew contained honey for warding off infection. There were bolts of snowy white cloth, a small wickedly sharp blade, and a small thick book of woodland herbs and cures. With this in her hands, she finally felt a hedging of sanity and sense return to the world. She couldn't fight, or raise cattle, or sew dresses, but medicine… she could do that.

"Let's get out of this foul place." Thorin called, "Come let's go!"

Sylven shut the box quickly, pulling it onto her lap and squinting at the clothes in front of her. _Mens _clothes, she realized with a grimace. She grabbed a grey shirt and a pair of brown breeches, and though she looked for a vest or cloak she found none. The dwarves were hurrying out after Thorin, as soon Kili was at her side.

"Come on, time to get some distance from this place." He urged, offering his hand to help her up as she bundled the clothes – covering the chest. "Did you find your things."

"Mmm." She mumbled, taking his hand and lifting herself up. Her gaze lingered for a moment on a quiver of short arrows on his back, and the bow slung onto his shoulder. "Some."

He looked curiously at the clothes, then gave her a little smirk as she removed her hand from his and took the lead back out into the world. The fresh air was crushing in its magnificence, and she didn't stop until she was nearly out of site from the dwarves. They were assembling at the mouth of the cave talking, so she took the opportunity to put down her parcel and examine her hands. The clothes were, expectedly, a little dirty. The bandages she had on were already looking questionable.

On the estate there had been plenty of chances to practice her work, studying under Lady Seibel's actual physician Lucile Dafain. Sylven had been one of five girls in Siebel's care, and each of them had been allowed to pick something to learn outside of reading, writing, dancing, and conversation. The others had chosen needlepoint or an instrument – one had even willingly submitted herself to learning how to run a household. Sylven, found herself captivated by healing since she'd watched Defain tending to one of the stable boys who had been kicked by a mare. The process of setting bone and mending body was, to her, such an elevated calling from being a desirable candidate for matrimony. So, she had begged the physician to take her on. Lucile had been reluctant – women were seldom trusted to know anything of value, and the life of a woman possessing independent thought was seldom without hardship.

None the less, Sylven struggled her way to the woman's side, and soon was wrapping wounds from the practice yard, tending illnesses of the servants and nearby peasantry. There had been far more to absorb than she'd ever imagined, but the gratefulness of those she helped aided her in pressing oneward when the other girls sneered and sniffed. One might have expected encouragement from her tutor, but Lucile had absolutely no interest in inflating what she claimed was an already swollen ego, or adding to her idiotic fantasy of being seen as equal by men of the medicinal profession.

Lucile would sniff now if she saw the state of her. The physician had remained behind on the estate, but somehow she didn't feel so very far off. Sylven could imagine her, with her ragged tangled nest of grey hair and hard grim brown eyes. She'd tower over her even in her hunched state, wrinkled hands on her hips in her tattered plain brown gown with the impeccable white apron, eyeing her bandages.

"Do you plan to let your wounds fester then? Do you think it will be amusing, when the sickness begins to bubble from the gashes in yellowing puss?"

Lucile had a talent for conjuring up vivid images.

Oddly, Sylven found herself missing the cranky old hag.

"How are your hands?"

She looked up, surprised to find the wizard in front of her. She'd been picking at the edge of the cloth on her left arm, but stopped at once. "They're fine, thank you."

"And you found what you were looking for?" He inclined his brow towards the bundle beside her.

"What I needed, at least." She frowned slightly. "Where are we going?"

"Oh, forward I should think." The old man frowned to, looking thoughtful. "At least, that is my hope."

Sylven laughed almost silently, then stood and collected her only possessions. She tucked them under her one arm, then offered her hand. "Sylven."

She wasn't sure what she expected him to do with her hand, but he took it in both of his as shook it firmly – though he hardly gripped her at all, so no additional pain come from it. "It is my pleasure. I am Gandalf – some call me Gandalf the Grey."

"Gandalf." She repeated, trying the name on her tongue as he released her hand and took his staff from where he'd leaned it on his shoulder. He had on a sword now, still webbed with the remainder of cobwebs from the cave. "I owe you my thanks – I think Thorin fully intended to tie me up to the farm house and press on."

He chuckled pleasantly. "Oh no, my dear. I imagine he'd blindfold you and shove you in the right direction, at the very least."

Then, as if he'd proclaimed stone was hard or breakfast came at morning, he nodded to her and joined the dwarves beginning their trudge again. She followed, and gratefully joined Bilbo as he waited for her at the back.

"Oh good, found some clothes I see." Bilbo noted cheerfully, running his fingers under the straps of his bag.

Even Bilbo had found himself a weapon in the cave – he now had a hobbit sized blade upon his hip, sheathed and strapped onto a belt. Sylven nodded to the weapon. "Are you a warrior now? I thought you were a burglar."

"Oh – well, I'm not much of a burglar." Bilbo flushed slightly. "Still – it would have come in handy last night, wouldn't it?"

She had to give him that.

"Come on you two!"

They looked on as Fili called out to them from one of the rocks upon the ascent up the hill the dwarves were now climbing. Kili was beside him, smiling. "Unless you want to wait for more trolls."

"No, thank you!" Bilbo shouted, his voice cracking slightly at the thought. He began to scramble forward, and with a reluctant smile Sylven followed after them.

Thorin was merciless in the march, pressing them onward nearly till night had come again. She kept expecting someone to complain, but even rotund Bomber waddled onward, huffing and wheezing and drifting to the back behind Sylven and Bilbo. Everyone was exhausted, but no one questioned Thorin's determination to continue on.

Sylven was a fairly poor judge of direction, but they seemed to have turned eastward to her, if the sun was being honest. By the time it was low behind them, she was certain. She was also very secure in the knowledge that her feet were going to fall off if she had to walk another hour, and that the chest she'd been so delighted to find had gained at least a dozen pounds since they had departed from the cave.

So it took every shred of composure in her to keep from crying out when Thorin came to a halt at the crest of a hill that just broke above the treeline and announced, "We'll camp here for tonight."

At once there was the thunderous thud of packs dropping as well as dwarves. Sylven collapsed onto a rock so quickly it hurt a little. She pulled up the hem of her dress to look down at the pair of threadbare slippers that had been a part of the dress. She could almost see her toes now – one day of this hiking and they were obliterated. The dwarves set about assembling their camp, discussing things they're misery at losing the ponies and reflecting at their good fortune in taking the saddles _off_ the creatures by nightfall.

"I do believe there's a stream nearbye, my dear."

Sylven blinked, coming back to herself as Gandalf spoke. It was the second time now he'd managed to sneak up on her by walking right in front of her. She felt her face flush – the journey had _not_ improved her scent. "Ah – well, would you be able to -"

"Of course." He smiled kindly, holding out his hand. She was surprised by the decorum, and did her best to rise gracefully with the help. She hobbled a little when pressured returned to her feet, though. "We shall return shortly." Gandalf announced, and Sylven caught Kili watching as she grabbed her bundle and followed Gandalf back down the hill – though by a different path than they'd taken up. She ended up removing her slippers at the bottom, tossing them angrily into the woods when Gandalf wasn't watching. With the sun in quick retreat, the grass and dirt had cooled. It was almost soothing.

"How do you know there's a stream? I can't hear it." She called, as they entered the trees again.

"Oh I know these lands quite well." Gandalf called over his shoulder. "I have walked them for some time."

"Any advice for sore feet?"

He chuckled. "Thick boots. But I hardly think you need advice on treatment of any malady."

"Oh?" She swatted a branch out of her face. "Why is that?"

"You've been trained to cure ills." He turned his attention to his footing. "Few young ladies are so attentive to their bandages, or so pleased to find a physicer's tools."

Sylven halted, clutching her things to her chest. How could he know that? Was knowing everything a universal talent of wizards? It seemed unwise to lie. She started walking again, not wanting to fall to far behind. "I've received training, but I'm hardly an expert on the topic. I was learning under Lucile Defain."

"Ah!" Gandalf said delightedly. "A singularly spectacular woman."

"You know her?" Sylven said in amazement.

"Quite well." Gandalf paused, lifting his hand. Sylven stopped just behind him, and listened. Low and behold, there was the promised sound – the gurgle of running water. "She makes particularly fine beef and barley stew."

"Lucile?" Sylven laughed uneasily. "You're sure we're talking about the same person?"

"Ah, well, she was much younger when last I saw her." Gandalf confessed. He pointed ahead. "Continue on, it's not much farther. I'll send Mr. Baggins to find you when it gets darker, insure you don't get lost."

Sylven nodded, looking eagerly in the direction of the water. The idea of being clean again, of having some semblance of peace… She hurried on, grinning.


	5. Chapter 5: River Maiden

The water wasn't hard to find. She could see a little farther upstream to where a waterfall had formed a large pool, so she moved upward towards that. Waterfall was perhaps a generous term, for the crystalline liquid cascaded down a mere six or seven feet, but the bowl of the pool had formed a pocket were the water circulated with almost no current, making for a much simpler place to bathe. Sylven found herself scanning the forest before she began to undo the laces of the bodice, which had been laced with terrified fingers so long ago.

She threw the piece onto the ground, smiling slightly at the round bit of clean fabric true to how the gown had once looked. The purple was regal and vivid, and the trim around the cuffs of the sleeves and the neck had at one point glistened like spun gold. Now it was a torn and ragged mimicry of something beautiful, and she found herself eager to be rid of it. Once the dress lay in a heap, she found her hesitation again. Her chemise was ruined as well, but there was the complication of the clothes she would be changing into. A shirt and a pair of pants, that was all she would have, and the shirt looked like it might fit three or four of her inside it. They didn't smell at all, thankfully, from being buried in the middle of the pile, but they were entirely masculine. She couldn't recall ever wearing pants before.

There was no time to wait – it would be dark soon, and that would bring Bilbo to come get her. There was amusement in imagining him stuttering and squeaking after accidentally catching her bathing, but of course someone might come with him. Kili, for instance.

Sylven's cheeks flared up unexpectedly at the thought, and she laughed nervously to herself. Yes, better to bathe quickly.

Sylven pulled the dress over her head and placed it on top of her new clothes. After a moment's thought, she undid her bandages on her arms and tossed the soiled cloth with her old dress. She stepped into the shallows of the pool, and her flesh at once prickled as if it meant to run off her. The water was bitterly cold, and without sunlight to warm the rest of her she'd soon be shivering. She rushed in till she was waist deep then seized a as much air and courage as she could and dropped under the water. She scrubbed madly at her face and arms and hair, until her chest burned with need for air. She came up only briefly, before repeating this again several times, washing her whole body down until she could no longer bare the cold.

She hurried out, and her first instinct was to grab her clothes and get them on. But that would soak them as well, so instead she dried herself with the chemise as best she could, and only then did she dawn the shirt and pants her body so desperately needed. The shirt was enormous, as expected, but the pants fit oddly well. In a moment of inspiration Sylven turned the bodice inside out and laced it up again, clean side showing to the world. If one looked very close you could see the seamstress's lines, but it had been made for this purpose of both sides being displayed – this one was all gold, in case Lady Siebel had felt extravagant enough for it.

Shivering, Sylven stood rubbing her arms and looking around at the woods. She had been so busy with her own business she had not noticed the sun disappear entirely, and without its sentinel like presence the forest had transformed into a sinister place once more. She went over to the water's edge, crouching down to look at herself. The burning auburn of her hair looked black in the pool, and so to it stole the green from her eyes. She could make out the dapple of freckles across her nose and cheeks, which stood out in such a stark comparison to her skin. Weeks in a cave had paled her, and the ice bath had done nothing to help it. She looked much thinner than she had last seen herself, as if captivity had sharpened the features of her face.

She could see the dark mark of the cut along her brow, a wicked crook. She moved her arms out in front of her, squinting to look at the dozen or so cuts on each. These were smaller, less serious, but she wouldn't have guessed there were so many.

"Look, see, now you've made us miss it." Kili's voice traveled over to her.

"I-I-I- that's entirely inappropriate!" Bilbo was indeed, stuttering.

The two came from downstream, Bilbo not daring to look at first but Kili wearing his accustom grin. "Feeling clean and new?"

"Very." Sylven rose, tugging self-consciously at the bottom of the shirt, sticking out of the bodice. "Hoping for a peek?"

"Of course not, that would be ungentlemanly in the extreme. Thorin would have my hide." Kili stopped beside her, suddenly frowning. "You look freezing – here."

He stripped his coat off, holding it out to her. She considered refusing, but the sight of fur was all together far too tempting. She pulled it onto her shoulders, smiling as it came only to her knee. It was warm from sitting against him, and Sylven found herself suddenly in the debt of the eerie darkness to hide her reddening cheeks and ears. "Many thanks."

Unaware of her discomfort Kili nodded cheerfully, moving over to crouch in front of the chest. "What's this?"

"It's my trunk of tricks." She replied, trying to catch Bilbo's eye as fidgeted looking over the water. "Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"Right you are!" Bilbo turned on his heel to look at them.

Kili sighed, picking up the chest. "Fine – are you leaving those?" He jerked his chin towards the pile of ruined fabric.

Sylvn shook her head, gathering it up. She walked over to where the water picked up into a river once more, and tossed them into the current. She watched them bob and weave in the dark, until they disappeared entirely. It was oddly… satisfying. "Now we can leave."

She walked alongside Kili on the way back, Bilbo pumping his arms madly in his eagerness to leave the trees behind them. Kili chuckled, leaning over to murmur, "I think he imagines there are more trolls about."

Sylven tilted her head, watching the hobbit. She raised her voice enough for him to hear. "I can't blame him – there's plenty of trolls in this part of the woods. And orcs of course, and wolves, night wisps, goblins, gremlins – of and you can't forget the shapeshifting goblesnatches."

Bilbo stopped suddenly. He couldn't bring himself to turn. "Shapeshifting hoblesnatches?"

"Oh yes," Kili joined in eagerly. "Nasty little buggers those – they smell the cook fires of travelers, come lurking about. And when the fire goes out, then snatch up the smallest of the group and carrying him out far away to eat raw."

"You're… you're making fun of me." Bilbo accused.

Sylven sighed, patting his shoulder as she continued on passed him. "That's what the stable boy in my company thought."

She and Kili only made it a little further until they burst into laughter, ruining the joke, but Bilbo's angry cursing at them made it worth it. Sylven continued to pick her way back up the hill to the camp carefully, her unadorned feet hurting once again. When Kili noticed, he sighed, "You forgot your shoes?"

"I didn't forget them." She sniffed. "Mine were useless."

"And you're intending to do what, tomorrow?" He looked at her sceptically as they mounted the hill, to find the dwarves mostly huddled around the sparse flames of the tiny fire Thorin had allowed them. There were a few scattered – some in their beds fast asleep, some on lookout. Fili was sitting on his bed smoking from a pipe. Thorin sat alone, the fire glowing on the profile of his face as he stared out over the treetops. He looked over as they returned, and Sylven looked quickly away.

"They're back!" Bofur called cheerfully. "Glad to see you looking more cheerful, M'lady."

Sylven laughed. "I'm not a lady – those weren't even my clothes."

"All the same, would you like something to eat?" He held up a bowl in offering.

Sylven had been so preoccupied with the hundred different events that she'd all but forgotten her hunger. At the site of steam coming off the bowl, her mouth drenched with saliva, and she had to swallow to get out, "Please."

She sat down in the space between Bofur and one of the very harry ones – Oin or Gloin, she couldn't recall – and took the meal gratefully as Kili went to his brother, and Bilbo went to his bed. There was a spoon, and inside the hot stew smelt like it had been crafted in the kitchen of some sort of god. It burned down her throat it was so hot, but she couldn't stop herself. Bofur said something about it being old, apologising it wasn't better, but she'd never tasted something so perfect in all her life.

Eventually, there came the issue of where she would sleep. Gandalf offered his own bedroll, as it was more to her size, but the idea of forcing an old man to sleep on a bed too small for him took any of the appeal. Eventually it was agreed she'd sleep in the bed of whoever had first watch – which turned out to be Fili – and that he'd take the bed of the second, Bombur, and so on. The mat was thin, but when compared to the dirt floor of the caves she'd been in she had no reason to complain. Fili and Kili has set their beds up against one of the boulders on the hill, and so as she settled down Kili sat beside her, working at something with two bits of furs.

Sylven had to curl up to fit the bed, and though she was tired there was something mesmerising about watching him working with his knife and threading a string through the holes he was creating. Unable to sleep, she sat up and pulled her chest over, unlatching it and pushing back the lid. Kili looked over curiously. "Medicine? That's your trick?"

She pulled out a roll of bandage and the little honey pot. "You sound disappointed."

"Well, it could have been anything." He reflected. "Gold, maps, a jewel that could transport the holder to their desired destination. It could even have been a flask of fire brandy."

"Nope, sorry, just lifesaving equipment I'm afraid." She chipped the wax off as she spoke, then pulled off the lid. It was full, enough to aid a great many cuts. She dipped a finger in, and began painting over the cuts on her arms.

Kili moved closer to watch, abandoning his project. "What's that?"

"Honey – it stops wounds from going bad." She murmured, looking over the sleeping dwarves to insure their talking wasn't keeping anyone awake. Bombur was already snoring. "I'll need something to seal the pot back up again after."

"I have lots of string." Kili promised. "How does it do that?"

She shrugged. Questioning the facts Lucile had given her had been a habit she dropped very quickly. She put the pot down then picked up the cloth, cleaning the excess honey onto the end she placed onto her arm and began to wrap, the additional stick making it much easier. When she got to the end Kili reached forward, grabbing the ends. "Here, let me."

Surprised, she offered her hand and watched as he tied it off. She picked up another bundle and began on her other arm, and again allowed him to tie the end. She had to admit, it was far more secure than when she'd done it herself. She dipped a finger into the pot, before putting the lid on and looking away from him as she dabbed it onto her brow. Kili smirked. "Are you blushing?"

She paused, looking over at him sharply. "What?"

"You are!" He accused. "Miss prim and proper – Sylven, dame of decorum."

She raised a brow. "Maybe I'm not use to being stared at like a two headed goat."

"I would never stare at you like a goat." He said, eyes shining with the game. "Perhaps a very lovely cow…"

She laughed, shoving her hand against his face smearing a streak of honey onto him. Soon they were both laughing, struggling as he tried to get hold of her wrists and she covered him in sticky sugar. Eventually there came a, "Shut up!" from across the camp, but that only made them laugh harder. Kili fell back against the rock, clutching his stomach, and Sylven laid back on the bed – lips pressed as she tried to keep from bursting into another round. She turned onto her side, sticking her tongue out at him. He grinned, then reached across her to put the honey back into the chest and shut the lid, whispering, "Prude."

"Vagabond."

"Prig."

"Pig."

He snickered, sitting back and picking up his work again. "Get some sleep."

Instead she watched him working for a while longer, weaving the string back and forth and digging holes in the pelt again and again. When at last her eyelids grew too heavy, and her eyes closed, the last thing she noticed was the deep smell of leather and smoke and Kili, coming from his jacket still wrapped around her shoulders.


	6. Chapter 6: Fanged Foes

Sylven walked through the manor, her bare feet padding along the wood, soft and shiny from years of use. It was dark, but she knew at once she was just outside her bedroom. Everything was silent but for her, the sort of silence that leaves an oppressive air.

She pressed on down the hall, past the rooms of the other girls. Then came the noise again – cheering and laughing and music. She hurried towards it, desperate to escape that dead quiet. She stopped as wall gave way to railing on her left, and crouched down to look upon the great hall. There was a feast, men from the far east had come to visit Lady Siebel again. They were tall men, with capes of brilliant reds and blues and greens. They wore circlets and had rings enough to weight down their fingers. They were loud and lively and handsome, all glad to have a roof above them once again.

Lady Siebel was at the head of the table, as was only right. She smiled and nodded when one of the men would speak to her, but her eyes were vacant.

_She wishes them gone_. Sylven realized, watching her closely. Sylven felt at once she needed to help Siebel, go down and beg her to come away for some important reason. She stood, drawing her cloak tightly around herself and shivering. When had the house become so cold?

She was at the top of the circular stone staircase when she heard the voice.

"Where are you going?"

Sylven looked over her shoulder, and there they were – the farmer and his wife. Flesh peeled from their faces, and she knew it was the woman who spoke because the farmer's jaw was gone. He let out a groan, and Sylven screamed, turning and running. But they waited for her at the bottom, and now there were the knights with grim eyes, their armour crushed and bloody with clumps of dirt. Sir Arthur demanded, "Why?"

Sylven ran past them. If she could only get to the feast!

But as she rounded the corner and came into the great hall all was silent as a tomb. The men of Gondor lay with their faces on the table, arrows coming out their backs like quills. Lady Siebel raised her head, her skin leathery and white, her eyes milky with death. Her voice trembled as she wheezed, "I thought you would save us. You only ever save yourself."

"Coward."

"Craven."

"Sneak."

"Liar."

"Murderer."

"Sylven?"

Sylven opened her eyes, and found him hovering over her. Kili's face was streaked with worry again. It took her a moment to get free of the wraiths still clinging at the edge of her mind, trying to drag her back to that hall. Only a dream. Only a dream.

"Was I screaming?" She asked, sitting up as he moved back. The sky had turned the slate gray of the trolls. She kept her voice to a whisper, realizing that only a few dwarves had risen.

Kili shook his head, watching her closely. "You kept saying I'm sorry."

"Oh." She pulled his jacket off her shoulders, holding it out to him. "You must be freezing."

"_I'm_ fine." He laughed, his brows knitting.

She put it down beside him, turning her back to him and pushing the lock on her chest, opening it up to grab the honey. She frowned at the string, knotted and tied over the little pot. She looked accusingly over her shoulder at him, and Kili smirked. "The lock's not as ingenious as humans think."

"Ah, all hail the dwarven superior mind, then." And with that, they left the tenseness behind them. It was not long before the entire company was awake – by their own volition of a punt with a boot depended on the person. They began packing their things, Sylven rolling Kili's be for him and folding up the little blanket he'd left for her. The morning air was freezing, but Sylven was careful not to shiver. Kili had eventually put back on his jacket, but he'd strip it off in an instant if she looked cold. The walk would warm her, at least.

She looked down at her feet grimly. There were blisters she hadn't seen in the dark, and just crouching while she worked made them ache.

"These are for you."

Kili didn't look at her as he dropped something beside her, quickly returning to his packing. Sylven picked up one of the objects in question, tilting her head. They were _boots_. Not in the conventional style, to be sure, there was no thick sole or string to tighten them on the side, but from the bits of hide and string, Kili had constructed her a pair of boots – the inside fur plush and soft. She looked over at him, mouth slightly open in amazement. He dared a glance over, then smirked. "Do you like them?"

"They're fantastic!" She laughed, dropping onto her bottom to tug them onto her feet. They were snug, but not terribly so. "How did you -"

He shrugged sighing. "It's not easy, living with such an advanced mind, but you know – I try to manage."

She shoved his arm, and he cried out, "Oh, a very fine thanks."

"Thank you." She said, as if it were childish of him to need such a thing. She put her feet out in front of her, wiggling them contentedly.

"Come on now, brother." Fili came over, picking up his bedroll and beginning to wedge it into his bag. "Truly, Sylven, not all dwarves are such horrendously lacking in charm."

Kili's brows flew up, nodding with a crooked smile at his brother. "Lacking in charm, am I?"

"Ah, my, Bilbo looks to need some help." Sylven leapt up, grabbing her chest and scampering off as the two brothers back mocking back and forth. She went over to Bilbo, who was fastening the buckles of his bag, chuckling to herself. "Good morning."

He glanced up, giving her a quick smile. "Morning! Have you had something to eat yet?"

She shook her head, and Bilbo looked around quickly to make sure no one was paying them any mind. He beckoned her closer, giving her a conspiratorial wink before opening back up his bag and fishing out a something bundled in a little white cloth. He pulled back the flaps, and there sat at tiny cake. It was pale yellow, with tons of tiny round black seeds. Dripping down the inward curves of the flower shaped cake was a hardened icing.

"My famous seed cake." Bilbo whispered. "It's the last one I have – would you like to share it?"

"I'd be honored." Sylven was genuinely touched, that he'd share something so precious with her. She sat down beside him as he split the sweet in two, handing her one half. If the cake was indeed famed, she could see why. It had a sweet lemon flavour, the seeds providing a gentle crunch. The icing was almost tart with lemon, to cut across the sugar of the cake. She quite entirely forgot her manners, and ate it far too quickly to be elegant. So it only added to amusement when she found Bilbo already done.

"Are all hobbits such excellent cooks?"

"Well, I like to think I'm particularly advanced." Bilbo glowed with pride. "Did you enjoy it then?"

"It was divine." She said, happy to add to the hobbit's pleasure.

"Time to move." Thorin called. Sylven found even herself rising unquestioningly at his order, following the group. The went down the side of the hill, and down into the trees once again.

At midday, Thorin allowed a break to rest. They were nearing the edge of the forest – Sylven could tell from the vegetation that grew there. She would have liked to take a look around – there might be some Queenbells or Frankcaps nearby – but despite the new boots her feet still hurt and her head had begun to ache. She and Bilbo sat side by side, her boots beside his oversized harry feet, Bilbo remarking on the pleasantness of their not being any rain while she tried to figure out why his feet weren't bleeding.

From far behind them, there came a loud crack and the brush began to quake. Thorin was up at once, shouting, "Something's coming!"

"Stay together!" Gandalf called. "Arm yourselves!"

Bilbo leapt up, and Kili and Fili were with them before Sylven could even stand. The dwarves began to close in back to back, and Kili stepped in front of her as he drew out and arrow from the quiver, watching the brush intently. Bilbo pulled out his blade when Fili did, and then bursting from the shrubs came a flurry of rabbits, lashed to one another and pulling – a sled?

Standing on it was another very small man, dressed in brown and shrieking, "Thieves! Liars! Murder!"

He slid to a stop in front of them, looking around with a squint. Gandalf, who had drawn his sword, sounded relieved. He sheathed his weapon, walking over. "Radagast! Radagast the Brown! What on earth are you doing here?"

Radagast turned to the wizard. "I was looking for you, Gandalf. Something's wrong! Something's terribly wrong!"

"Yes," Gandalf prodded gently.

The brown cloaked man opened his mouth to speak, then halted. He tried again, then frowned quizzically. "Just give me a minute. _Oh_ I had a thought and now I've lost it! It's right there, on the tip of my tongue! Oh! It's not a thought at all." He cupped his tongue out and Gandalf reached forward, plucking up a bug from inside his mouth. "It's just a little stick insect."

Sylven looked around to see if anyone else was as permanently disturbed by that as she was.

"Come, let us talk." Gandalf patted the man's shoulder, and nodding he hopped off his sleigh and followed the ancient wizard a little farther away.

"How do you suppose Gandalf knows him?" Sylven looked to Kili, who hadn't left her side since the disturbance. They had gone back to sitting, watching the two conversing.

Kili shrugged, but Bilbo supplied the answer. "He's a wizard to – though how a wizard comes to be like _that_ I cannot imagine."

Fili tapped the edge of his sword, which had had lain across his lap. "What do you suppose they're talking about? That's what I'd like to know."

"You don't think Gandalf would leave, do you?" Kili looked urgently to his brother.

The blond dwarf eyed the wizards. "Can't say."

Then came the low howl, hollow and feral. The dwarves all straightened, looking around, and Bilbo was on his feet once again. "Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out there?"

Everyone once again stood, and Bofur looked around the pocket in the earth where they'd gathered. The trees were thick here, and Sylven was acutely aware that it was difficult to see beyond twenty or thirty paces.

"Wolves?" Bofur clutched his mattock, one end hooked the other a flat square prime for crushing. "No… that is not a wolf."

From behind them there was a deep throaty growl, and down from one of the cliffs came the largest fur creature Sylven had ever seen. In a flash it leapt, pushing off a tree and diving at Thorin. He swung, his sword catching the beast in the face and driving deep into his skull. It landed beside him then struggled on the ground as it twitched toward it's end. Kili fired off an arrow, and the second one behind Thorin none of the rest had seen yelped and went tumbling down the hill where Dwalin smashed it's head in with his hammer. Thorin pulled his sword from the other creatures skull, grunting, "Warg scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

The monsters were huge, the size of bears with teeth to match. Sylven stood perfectly still, watching the orangey yellow eye staring up from the nearest dead creature.

"Orc pack." Bilbo repeated, panic merging with disbelief.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf demanded of Thorin, hurrying forward.

Thorin turned to him. "No one."

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear!" Thorin looked around. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

Gandalf huffed, scanning their surroundings. "You are being hunted."

"We have to get of here." Dwalin hissed.

"How," squeaked Ori. "We have no ponies!"

"I'll draw them off." Radagast declared.

Gandalf turned to him impatiently. "These are Gundabad wargs! They will outrun you."

Radagast fluffed up indignantly. "_These_ are Rhosgobel rabbits! I'd like to see them try."


	7. Chapter 7: The Flight

The wails of the wargs reverberated off the trees as the company ran, so that the sound surrounded them. Radagast the Brown was gone, his sleigh headed towards the open plain by a different path. Gandalf had the lead, and kept calling back instructions and orders to hurry. Sylven clutched her box to her chest as she ran, trying to ignore the pain of her feet, acutely aware of Kili a step behind her. If she slowed, so would he.

The divide between forest and grassland was instant, the sunlight burning and blinding. She turned her face away, shielding her eyes. That was when the chest slipped from cradle of her arms. By the time she'd stopped it was several paces behind. She turned to go back for it and found a pair of arms around her waist, holding her back.

"Leave it!" Kili begged, dragging her on despite her struggling. She let out a snarl – of what she couldn't say; rage, despair, defiance. But she allowed herself to be pulled away, and with a final glance at the little box sitting amongst the roiling blades of grass, she turned and ran on.

They ran until rocks began to jut from the earth, causing hills and dips. Gandalf stopped at the bottom of a large boulder, looking on as they all gathered behind him. Sylven's eyes swelled as she watched Radagast tare pass hardly more than a spear throw from them, flanked by seven, eight wargs – some with hunched creatures on their backs.

"Come!" Gandalf rushed down the hill, and unquestioningly the dwarves, girl, and hobbit ran after him. The sounds of howls through the growing rocks was – Sylven had not thought it possible – even more terrifying. Now Thorin had taken lead, and she and Kili passed Bombur working his stubby arms as hard as he could – his face as red and bulbous as spring rosebuds. They skidded to a halt as the cart flashed past them from around a rock – this time closer still, and everyone backed away as the wargs came thundering along behind. They looked to be gaining.

Sylven gripped Kili's arm. "They'll kill him."

"Stay together." Gandalf ordered, turning back the way they'd come.

He looked to her apologetically, but the others had begun to run again. "Hurry."

Back they went, then down a deep cut into the valley. They came out from around another rock and Thorin shouted, "Ori, no!"

He seized the sweater of the youngest and yanked him back as Radagast came thumping past in the distance – _more_ wargs pounding his trail. Gandalf waved and they moved on downward, further downward. Sylven looked around to insure Bilbo was still with them – pale as death, but with a hand on Bombur's back helping him along.

As the land leveled out again they turned sharply right to avoid a pack of wargs rushing to join the chase, and all at once they began to pile up against a rock. Sylven pressed herself against it, gasping for breath. She stopped all together when there was that rumble above their heads – and a loud snort of massive nostrils flaring. There was the singing noise of metal against metal as a weapon was drawn, and the growl of the warg grew louder.

Sylven looked to Kili, but he was watching his uncle. Thorin nodded, and Kili's eyes went to the ground. Sylven gripped the stone behind her to keep from stopping him as he drew out an arrow and eased it onto his bow. He sprinted forward and swung round, firing. The warg roared, and reared towards the right as the arrow dug into the flesh of its shoulder. Kili loosed again before any saw him load, and this one caught the monster's neck.

It didn't go down quietly – nor its rider. They tumbled down the rock, landing between Kili and the rest of the group. The screech of pain from the rider and the mount spread like wind through the rocks and open air, even as the dwarves moved in a mob smashing and stabbing and slicing. The rider came charging at them and Dwalin knocked it into the dirt like a nail – on the head. Sylven meant to shut her eyes, but there was no time, just black blood and bits of skull. The others set upon the mutated wolf, but all she could do was staring at the very particularly still form.

The howls sounded around them again, and Gandalf roared, "Move – run!"

Sylven was forced on by a hand gripping her sleeve, and realized belatedly it was Thorin forcing her on. Numbly she did as he seemed to want – she got her feet under her body, pushed back the fear, and ran with every bit of will she had left at hand.

The hills were getting more numerous, the rocks giving way to more trees – though these bore needles, not leaves. "There they are!" Gloin cried, pointing to the distance as they reached the crest of a hill. He was right – black figures were coming towards them, small now but not for much longer.

"Quickly!" Gandalf led them left, right, forward – direction was lost to Sylven now. She stopped as from the hill in front of them three riders on wargs appeared, blades of crooked devilish swords held high as they called out in a tongue foreign and… wrong. Sylven found herself cringing from the noise – she'd never heard the foul speech before. It filled her mind with images of torture and decimation.

"More are coming!" Kili warned, standing at the top of the hill behind them. They were at the bottom of three or four hill, with not but a small collection of rocks behind them.

"Kili! Shoot them!" Thorin commanded, and at once arrows began to shear the air. Sylven back away from the nearest wargs, watching as those around her prepared for the fight. She had nothing – not even her surgery knife. The dwarves shouted grizzly words at the encroaching enemy lines, and Sylven found her gaze fixed on Kili, farthest out of their forming ring.

"Where's Gandalf?" Fili looked about.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin swore.

"Hold you ground!" Came Thorin's order, and Sylven glanced down quickly as Bilbo moved hesitantly in front of her, his blade out and blazing blue.

"This way, you fools!"

They turned as Gandalf shouted from the rocks. Then he went behind the short front one and disappeared. Thorin ran first, jumping onto the rock to look down before calling, "Quickly! All of you!"

The dwarves swarmed in a mad struggle, and Sylven stopped to gaze down into the sudden drop into darkness.

"In!" Thorin barked at her, but she ignored him, watching Kili backing slowly. Thorin followed her gaze, and yelled out, "Kili! Run!"

Reluctantly, Kili turned and rushed to them. Thorin slashed out to his right, and a warg shrieked as he sliced across its face, turning and backing away thrashing. Fili paused at Slyven's side to watch his brother running, and only when he was with them did he go down.

"Go on!" Kili waved Sylven in quickly, and she leapt down the sheer passage, hurtling towards the ground with Kili and Thorin tumbling after. They began to get to their feet, when from the mouth of the passage came the cry of a horn. Sylven pressed against the cavern wall, watching the light. It was no human horn, and with it came to hiss and lug of arrows flying and landing. They all recoiled as a body came bouncing down at them, landing unceremoniously – arms outstretched and eyes squeezed tight. The dwarves pointed their weapons – Gandalf his staff – but the dead thing was, indeed, dead.

They all relaxed slowly, and Thorin moved forward to grab one of the arrows lodged in its throat. He yanked it out, examining the end the throwing it away as if it were something filthy. "Elves."

Sylven moved over to crouch beside the dead thing, eyes fixed on the series of rings piecing it's flesh from brow to lip. She pressed her own together, transfixed. She'd never seen one before, nor had those who fought ever spoken to her of orcs. But what else could it be? Nothing on this earth was so hideous as an orc.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads?" Dwalin had moved ahead, looking down their new trail – lit by a large crack in the roof leading to sky. "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it of course!" Bofur said, as though it were clear, and no one argued as they rushed on – eager to be away from the dead. Sylven realized Kili was watching, and so stood and tried to look unshakeable as she moved past him, missing whatever Gandalf said behind.

Almost at once the narrow passage opened up, and Sylven paused beside a fresh flow of water streaming down the rock face and along the flat where they all gathered. She knelt to scoop the water into her hands, gulping greedily. Bilbo had shared his water with her the day before, but they had been quite preoccupied with running for their lives this day, and now her body felt desiccated. So it took her longer than it should have to noticed the silence among the men. She stood, and her height allowed her to see even from the back.

Hugging the mountain across a bay of water leading outward to endless sea, there was – city seemed a crude word for such a place. There were buildings whose construction swooped and dived in such elegant perfection that no human word felt adequate to describe it. Waterfalls poured from buildings and the rock around the haven, and everywhere luscious green trees grew tall and glorious.

"The valley of Imladris," Gandalf announced. "In the common tongue it's known by a different name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo supplied, his voice hushed with the same wonder Sylven found herself overwhelmed by.

Gandalf stopped beside Thorin. "Here lies the last homely house, east of the sea."

"This was your plan all along," said Thorin hot with an anger Sylven couldn't comprehend. "To seek refuge with our enemy."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf said impatiently. "The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?" Thorin shook his head. "They will try to stop us."

Sylven looked across the space to Kili, their eyes meeting for a moment. She felt all at once quiet stupid, for never asking where the dwarves were going. When Gandalf had said the word before, she had been too busy comprehending the wargs before her to absorb the thought. But of course they had some task – wizards were never idle in the stories, and there would never be so many of them if they were simply traveling from one place to the next idly.

A cold chill crept across her skin. If Gandalf was right, and Rivendell was safe, what did that mean for her?

"Of course they will." Gandalf said, bemused. "But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Be it elves or orcs that caused it, the dwarves were silent as they pressed on. Sylven fell in between Fili and Kili, feeling now more than ever the ware of the day. Her feet felt like she walked on coals, and the cut on her head seemed to have driven the ache to an intensity that was making it difficult to think – which is what she needed to do most of all.

This was where her part in the journey ended, wasn't it? Gandalf promised they would take her to safety, and she'd never seen such a bastion of serenity. What reason was there for her to go on a quest she wasn't even trusted to know about?

But then she thought about the burning orange eyes, and the shrivelled creatures with their cruel swords. That should have been more reason to stay in Rivendell, but instead she found herself picturing the faces of those around her, blooded and mangled. She couldn't bring herself to picture the face of the archer beside her, and glanced over at him as if to insure he was still as she remembered. He was looking out to the right at Rivendell, though, and if he noticed her staring he pretended he did not. Was he thinking the same thoughts as she? Did he even realize the choice that closed in on Sylven with each step that passed underfoot?


	8. Chapter 8: Deep-Rooted Distrust

They entered Rivendell over a bridge of stone, with no rails to obstruct the view of the frothing spraying water below, rushing towards the cliff where it tumbled down a considerable distance. They had to go two abreast, and so Sylven slid to the back once again with Bilbo, who was too busy being amazed to try and force conversation. They came upon a courtyard which was a round area of stone, leading to stairs which would bring one up to the level of the many buildings. The dwarves seemed unsure what to think – some appreciating at least the impressive structure of the place, while those like Thorin and Dwalin stood with the weapons held in a deliberately casual sort of way, eyeing their surrounds as if they suspected orcs to come popping out of the statues standing watch over the entrance.

Down from the stair came a man, cloaked in burgundy robes that caught the red in his lengthy brown hair. He had on a circlet of what looked to be roughly beaten iron, but which like everything else was stunning in its intricacy.

"Mithrandir," he called, in a voice reedy and yet warm.

Gandalf turned, and whatever of the sharpness that had come from the confrontation with Thorin melted from his face and he said cheerfully, "Lindir!"

The dwarves as always began to gather as the all examined the elf laying a hand on his chest and then drawing it out across the air in some form of greeting. Sylven took especial care not to join the shorter assembly, standing to the side and ignoring Kili's gaze.

Lindir said something to Gandalf in elvish, but Gandalf responded in the common tongue. "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

"My Lord Elrond is not here." The elf said, brows raising ever so slightly at the transition of language – though he did so with no apparent trouble.

"Not here," Gandalf suddenly grew a little more chilled towards the elf. "Where is he?"

As if summoned by the wizard's demand, the shrill horn from before sounded through the round bowl of the valley. Lindir looked past the old man, and Gandalf nodded in understanding as he joined the company in turning to look as from the hills came soldiers on horseback, thundering down the pass with banners and armor red as life's blood. And they were not slowing.

Thorin shouted something in dwarvish, and at once they closed ranks, Bilbo was sucked into the mass, and Sylven only caught sight of Kili for an instant as he shouted to her before the hunting party was on them. She had to step back against a tree which grew up in the far side of the not so very large courtyard to keep from being trampled as in a stream of horse hooves and confused looks the elves rushed in, circling around the armed pack of half men in two rings.

As they came to a stop, one elf called out, "Gandalf!"

"Lord Elrond." Gandalf said, his relief a nearly physical thing. He took a step forward, mimic the hand gesture Lindir had made and greeting the man in his native tongue. Lord Eldron, tall and dressed in armour who's metal interwoven and swooping, had about him an aura of power and wisdom, and yet there was none of the calculated manners that Lindir conducted himself with. Regality came naturally to this lord, and he wore it comfortably as his circlet – no more intricate than the one Lindir wore. He responded to Gandalf in elvish, before he slid from his horse, face alight with joy to see the wizard as he strode over.

The two embraced, and in that moment Sylven knew there was nothing to fear from this man. He held up a sword sheathed in tattered leather. "Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders." He moved around Gandalf to give Lindir the weapon. "Something or someone must have drawn them near."

"Ah," Gandalf tilted his head apologetically. "That may have been us."

The two watched Thorin as he came out from the dwarves, who'd lowered their weapons but gripped them just as tightly as before. Elrond smiled, but it was not with the same fondness he showed Gandalf. "Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin."

Thorin spoke with an elevated air. "I do not believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing." Elrond explained. "I knew Thrór when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed?" Thorin's voice grew taut with some underlying anger. "He made no mention of you."

Elrond smirked slightly, then said something in his own tongue. The dwarves began to bristle, and Gloin came to the front of the group roaring, "What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?"

The dwarves began to grumble and glower, shaking their weapons.

"No, master Gloin," Gandalf sighed patiently. "He's offering you food."

The little men fell quiet, then huddled close discussing the issue amongst themselves as the elvish lord looked on, bemused. Gloin came forward again. "Ah, well, in that case… lead on."

More elves began to gather as Elrond led them up into the tranquil 'homely house'. The lord's company followed behind the dwarves, hobbit, wizard, and girl, and quite by accident Slyven found herself beside Kili again. His eyes were scanning constantly, but she felt at once that for him their close proximity was no accident at all. He was as agitated as his uncle. Fili, who walked behind them, kept looking over his shoulder at the elves chatting in the words none of the company but Gandalf could understand – and he was at the front discussing something with Elrond.

When they came to a second courtyard – this one surrounded by buildings with three paths lined with trees – Elrond turned and announced, "A meal will be prepared, in an hour's time we shall feast. In the meantime, you will be shown to your accommodations to rest, for you are no doubt wearied by your travel. Limdir will lead you, I must take my leave."

Limdir tilted his head, then moved through an open doorway into one of the homes. Sylven was following the dwarves when Gandalf beckoned her towards him. She'd not noticed he hadn't moved to follow the company – indeed he still stood with Elrond. Though Lord Elrond seemed warmer… more human than the rest of the elves, Sylven still felt a sudden nauseating nervousness as she changed course and weaved through the dwarves. Kili stayed with her, which did nothing to make her feel more at ease. All she could think of was the wrapped up bits of fur on her feet, how dirty she already was again, and the fact that she was wearing pants. She learned then that there was no way to die of humiliation, for there was no way hers could have been greater.

"Lord Elrond, may I introduce Sylven, apprentice to Lucile Bonemender." Gandalf announced her so grandly she blushed. It surprised her to hear Lucile referred to as Bonemender – it was what the children called Lucile, when they told stories about her growing up fixing the bones of ogres.

"A paragon of her craft." Elrond inclined a brow, and Sylven bent into a curtsy more clumsy than the ones she'd done as a little girl. "Welcome."

"My thanks." She wasn't sure what else there was to say. She looked sidelong at Kili, lurking at the edge of her vision like a storm cloud. "We are in your debt for sheltering our ragged company."

Kili looked at her. "Ragged is a bit harsh don't you think? We have been walking a great deal."

"It has been some time since a son of the line of Durin walked these halls." Elrond considered her closely, then Kili. "You travel in esteemed company. A room will be prepared for you, Sylven Bonemender. If you'd excuse me." And with that he was gone, gesturing to the elven fighters who had remained to watch and speaking to an elvish woman who had moved out from one of the buildings. She smiled and nodded, glancing to Sylven then back to Elrond as he and his warriors moved on down the path on the right.

"She'll be separated from us?" Kili looked sharply to Gandalf. "Are you sure that's wise?"

Gandalf nodded soothingly. "It would hardly be appropriate for her to do anything else."

Sylven looked to the skies, praying for a stray bolt of lightning. Alas, the world above was crystalline and blue. She looked down as the woman appeared beside her, blond and willowy and pretty. Her hair was pulled back around her ears, accentuating the pointed ends. "My lady, I will lead you to your room if you wish?"

"Yes, I think that would be best." Sylven agreed eagerly, and the elf nodded pleasantly, turning and heading down the path Elrond hadn't taken. Sylven looked over at Kili, who was now trying to damage the leaving girl with a glare. "I'll see you at the feast, then. Gandalf."

Gandalf nodded, putting a hand on Kili's shoulder. "Come, Kili, I have a fine little bundle of Old Toby which deserves to be shared."

Sylven hurried after the blond girl, but before she followed her around the bend in the path, she glanced once more from where she'd come. Kili was hesitating at the door of one of the buildings, framed by the trees on either side of Sylven's path. His brows were low with concern, but he was smiling to, as if something was giving him both pain and enjoyment.

But she had to go on, or lose her guide, and so she did. But she held that image in her mind, his dark hair hanging partially in his face and his clothes dirty from the road. She could not remember where she'd heard name names Durin and Thrór, but she felt as though she'd gained a piece of the puzzle being hidden from her. And clung tightly to it, enjoying the victory.

The words of men failed her again, when the elf pushed back the door of a small building and revealed what looked to Sylven like a home. There was a seating area, a shelf of books, even an enormous harp in one corner, lit by the open archways leading out to a balcony. A door on the side led to the bedroom, which led to another balcony. There was a plush bed with white blanketing, and on the pillars of the balcony there were massive translucent white streams of fabric which stirred with the wind. Another doorway still led to a round room, the ceiling dome shaped with a small hole at the top letting in the sound of the wind and the soft light from above. The wood of the roof was carved with knots so complex it seemed to draw the mind out of the body it one stared to long. In the center of the little room, sunk into the floor, was a pool of water.

"Some clothes will be set out," the elvish girl said softly as Sylven stared at the blissfully perfect bath. "Is there anything else you require?"

"No, this is… perfect. Give my thanks to Lord Elrond." She said at once, and then found herself questioning that was right. Would he care if she was pleased where she slept?

The woman beamed and nodded, then did the hand gesture with a bow of her head and disappeared. Sylven waited for the sound of the closing door, then stripped down to her bandages and scurried down the steps into the pool. The water was divine – as warm as it was clear. She felt around curiously, examining the bowl shaped rock formation. It was smooth, and yet there were parts of the rock that were imperfect by natural design. She couldn't decide if it was elf made or not. She stayed as long as she dared, languishing in the luxury, and slipped out. She considered putting on the shirt before going out into the bedroom, but the idea of ever wearing those rags again was too repulsive. She found a dress set out for her, the same blue the sky took on.

She picked it up, watching the fabric pool in front of her. The body of the dress was simple, though as it moved she saw shimmers of silver dance though the threads. The neck a elegant dip, the sleeves only coming to her elbow. She looked down on the bed, and found a chemise of translucent silver fabric waiting. She slipped it on eagerly, and then the dress, and then she hurried back to look at herself in the pool. The silver pooled about the neck, and reappeared to finish the sleeves with a little additional length that was a little impractical but pretty all the same. She found a pair of flat silver shoes waiting for her, and tried them on curiously. She could feel the bottom of the shoe, but the fabric itself was weightless. She tried a few steps, amazed by the lack of pain. It was still there, of course, the damage was already done. But no more would be caused by these clouds.

She did the best she could to dry her bound arms, and allowed most of her hair to sit free to make her cut less visible. She was still sitting on the bed, threading her hair into a braid, when there came a knock at the door.

It felt rude to make someone wait, so she dropped the braid she'd been forming at the back of her hair and let the bottom come loose as she went to the door. She pulled it back, and there was little Bilbo on the step. He'd cleaned his hair, and she could see his jacket was still slightly damp as if he'd scrubbed it along with himself. He stood a proud hobbit once more, tall as he could make himself. He didn't smile at first so much as he opened his mouth and let out a long stretching noise that could have been an 'uh' of just a very loud breath.

He blinked, tugged on his coat, and hurried to say when he saw her panic, "You look lovely."

"And you look positively civilized again." She glowed. "Have you come to escort me to the feast?"

"Indeed I have. Kili, offered, but there was something Thorin wanted him for." He stuck his elbow high over his head, offering it to her. "Although I think I'm a little poorly suited to the task."

"I couldn't picture any better." She promised, though the lie of it made her feel a little guilty. She didn't let it show, stepping out and shutting the door before putting a wrist into the crook of his elbow – it was the best they could do. "Shall we?"

"Indeed, we shall."

And so the burglar and the lady went to dinner.


	9. Chapter 9: A Friend, and Something More

The lights of Rivendell by night were like nothing Sylven had ever seen. The lanterns hanging in the limbs of the trees and the sconces dangling from the pillars let off a pale blue glow, the blue of ice through a thick block of ice. For the moment, Sylven indulged in letting her thoughts fall into the back of her mind, and simply enjoy the present as Bilbo seemed to be doing.

"Have you ever met an elf before all this?" She asked. She'd not considered it before – Bilbo being from this far off Shire, who knew which of the other races dwelled there?

"Me? No." Bilbo said regretfully. "I've read about them in books – used to go through the woods as a child looking for them. But this is the first time I've seen them."

"Descriptions seem to fall flat on their face once you see them, don't they?" Sylven had also read about them. One of her favourite stories as a girl was the tale of Lúthien and her love, Beren.

Bilbo nodded pensively, then his face fell and he became quite fretful, "I do hope the dwarves are behaving themselves. You should have _seen_ what they did to my house when they arrived – absolute chaos. I'm still having nightmares about my empty larder."

Sylven grinned, but made sure he didn't see.

They entered one of the buildings of the main courtyard, then down a passage which opened up on a curved room leading to the table set into the open air. The dwarves had already began feasting – well, they had begun inspecting the food, but none seemed to approve – and a handful of elven women played instruments and served dishes of greens. The music was exotic and soothing, but instead of calming Sylven felt a prickling sensation race across her skin as she saw Kili, talking to his brother and snickering as Ori held up a leaf in disgust.

She must have shown it, because Bilbo stopped walking at the entrance of the dinner while they were still unseen. He lowered his arm, straightened his jacket, and gave her such a smile that he radiated gentleness. "You know, I think the elvish look suits you quite nicely. Shall we join the others then?"

Sylven pressed her lips together to keep her eyes from watering at the kindness. She'd not yet come to realize just how Bilbo saw the needs of others, but she began to see it then. He was more than the hobbit who had shared a cake and a comfort with her; he was a friend.

She nodded, he nodded, and together they went on. The dwarves glanced up at her – probably hoping she was an elf bringing the meat and root vegetables – but none seemed too disappointed to see her. Sylven couldn't quite bring herself to look at Kili, and so was grateful for the distraction when Dori announced in his mousy voice, "My lady, you look radiant."

The dwarves grumble their agreement, but all Sylven heard was Kili's voice.

"Yeah, she does."

She raised her eyes hesitantly, and found him staring. When their eyes met he smiled, but there was nothing of his usual playfulness there. This was something… softer. "Oh, is that salad?" Bilbo hurried over and planted himself in the seat beside Ori, leaving open for her to sit next to Kili – Dwalin was on her other side, but he was more concerned with rooting through the leaves than with her.

Sylven tucked the dress under before she sat down, looking up and down the length of the table. "Look at all the food."

"Yeah call this food?" Dwalin sniffed, slapping down the plate is if it had caused him personal insult.

Kili leaned over, murmuring, "I tried to get free to come see you, but Thorin's hardly letting Fili and I out of his sight."

"I know, Bilbo told me." She assured him, glancing at their leader who was sitting quietly on the right of the empty head of the table. The seat across from him was also vacant – absent a wizard.

"You asked?" Kili sounded rather pleased, so she felt compelled to gaze to the heavens.

"Forget I mentioned it."

"Because that's likely," he touched her hand as he turned to look at his brother said something to him. He had likely meant for the action to be casual, the way one touched a friend when sharing in a joke. But she found herself staring at his hand as it lingered, the place where his skin touched hers alive with a sort of energy that sent flames to scorch her every nerve.

It was ludicrous.

She was no young rose petal brained girl. She'd seen too much of life's blunt cold reality to be so affected by such a simple gesture. Kili wasn't the first man to ever touch her hand – she'd been courted once, by a boy she'd helped heal. It had been pleasurable at first, being reminded of all her virtues and lied to about the extent of her beauty – the flattery had been shameless. She'd given the boy a kiss, before he went off to serve as a page from a local lord, but even that had been an attempt trying to force such a reaction as this.

It was unfair, that he shouldn't be stunned as well.

So she laced her fingers into his, careful to insure no one else could see it under the table. His head turned sharply to her, and so she folded her legs and gave him a view of her shoulder as she paid Dwalin every mind. "You've never eaten a salad before?"

Dwalin wrinkled his nose. "That's for horses."

"It's not so bad." She reached with her free hand and plucked up a single piece of green, turning to Kili and holding it in front of his face. He was still wide eyed, and made no movement, so she sighed impatiently. "Open your mouth – it's not poison."

He opened his mouth to object, and so she stuffed the leaf in and sat back victoriously. Kili made a face, chewed quickly, and then swallowed laboriously. "That's not food."

Sylven laughed, shrugging as she pulled Dwalin's bowl over and took up a fork, swigging their linked hands between them. Gandalf and Elrond joined them soon after, and Sylven noticed Lindir appear from wherever he'd been lurking, watching with utter emotionlessness as the dwarves tucked into the fruits. As if he felt her watching, his eyes flickered over to her. He lowered a brow in a nod, and he gave him a sheepish smile in return as his eyes went to her arm moving in time with Kili's.

She moved to let go, but now he held on. She glanced at him and realized he was smirking, not looking at her put pretending instead to be listening to Elrond explaining the history of the swords Thorin and Gandalf had recovered from the troll horde. "Amazing, what treasures you can find trolls keeping."

"It's true; I am something of a treasure aren't I?" She replied in her most pompous, airy tone, and the two of them snickered. She let her fingers rest comfortably over his again. "How long does Thorin plan to stay here?"

Kili raised a brow sceptically. "As short a time as possible."

"Oh." She didn't mean to say it so breathlessly, but the answer had taken her off balance.

"Are you alright?" Kili tried to catch her eye but she remained fixed on the food she stuffed into her mouth, tasting nothing.

She swallowed with some difficulty, but speaking the words was a far harder task. "You do realize I won't be allowed to come with you?"

He sat upright. "What do you mean?"

She shut her eyes, assembling her strength before she met his gaze. "Thorin promised to bring me to safety – nothing more. You really think he'll let a woman travel with you – wherever it is your going?"

Kili blinked. "But it's not safe here."

"Kili!" She looked around sharply to make sure none of the elves had heard him. Lindir seemed preoccupied watching Bombur load an entire bunch of grapes into his cheeks so they swelled up like melons. "Keep your voice down."

"We're not leaving you here." He shook his head firmly. He put his other hand over her clasped one. "I'm not leaving you here."

He truly did believe it – she could see it in his eyes. So she nodded, assured him she believed him, and turned the topic to what elves would look like with the beards of their present company. It gave ample distraction, to where Kili seemed to forget entirely their worries before. But always he kept her hand in his, and whenever their conversation ebbed, she saw his attention wander to his uncle, and his face fix in thought.

So, hi there everyone! I planned on saying my thanks for all the wonderfully kind comments you've been leaving, and your absolutely astounding support, but it seems now would be the best time as I also have to apologize for the shortness of this chapter and the absolute non-existant editing. Tuesday I have class until 9:30 at night (Welcome back to College!) so I'll be trying to write these chapters up in my breaks or the night before. Anyways, so, sorry! And again, you all humble me with your enthusiasm.


	10. Chapter 10: Under Cover of Darkness

After dinner, Elrond, Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin withdrew to speak privately. The others began to return to wherever the dwarves were being kept, but Kili and Sylven slipped off together down a staircase, with no real direction in mind and neither having to prod the other to follow. They moved the wooded areas and over paths of woven rock all in silence, each contemplating the situation. She could tell for certain, now, that Kili was beginning to grasp the enormity of the task before him.

"You need to show him your skills with healing." Kili said, breaking the delicate web of silence they'd been neutering. "He needs to see you'd be useful."

Sylven raised a brow. When Kili say her doubt, he frowned. "What?"

She spoke slowly, carefully, maneuvering her words like a captain in treacherous shallows. "I think Thorin is a man who sees only what he wants to see."

He was shaking his head before she finished. "You don't know him like I do – there's nothing he wouldn't do to protect us. If you proved you could be the one to save one of us… he'd have no choice. He's not an unreasonable man, Sylven. He's just… set in his ways."

Sylven stopped short, turning to Kili sharply. "Where are you all going."

"Erebor."

There was no pause, no moment of calculation where he tried to decide on if she was worthy of the answer. He watched her, waiting for a reaction. She did her best to keep her face still as her mind shrieked violently into action, trying to process. Oh course she knew of Erebor – who hadn't heard of the mighty dwarven kingdom, stolen by a dragon who breathed fire hot enough to melt the very mountain the kingdom resided in. Smaug, the Terrible. The name sent shivers down anyone's spine. There was no way to save a man who was burned to the bone.

It fell into place then – sons of Durin, so many dwarves, a wizard. She'd known the task had to be important, but this… this was an expanse of danger too massive to be imagined. A dragon – that was what lay at the end of Kili's journey. Teeth made to crack bones and breath that ignited the air.

"You're frightened." She blinked, coming back to herself as Kili took her hands in his. She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right. Frightened hardly seemed to cover the first moments of understanding. Kili stroked his fingers over the backs of her hands. "Please, don't be frightened."

He needed to hear her speak the lie. He needed her to pretend to be brave, to create an illusion where her own character fell flat. The way he was staring at her – frozen in anticipation of her next words.

How could she give him the truth? How could she deny him anything he asked of her?

"Surprised – I'm surprised." She was, actually. But her shock came more at how honest she sounded. "Erebor… Thorin is King Under the Mountain? And that makes you…"

"Fili is his heir." Kili said quickly, laughing nervously. "Do I look like a prince to you? Here, you should sit."

He guided her over to a stone bench under the dripping branches of a willow tree. She was grateful for the darkness, which allowed her to hide her true feelings as well as move close to him. He was still holding her hands, working his thumb across the length of her fingers. His hands were much softer than she'd expected – used to gripping a sword, yes, but the gloves he wore for archery had shielded them from most of the damage. She focused on the comfort having him to herself brought, using it to combat the sheer numbing fear trying to swallow her up.

"You really think he'll listen?" She asked.

Kili nodded, smirking slightly. "I'm his favorite."

She laughed, and it felt glorious. "That's a terrible thing to say!"

"I'm endeavouring to be honest with you." He teased, but that did little to cloak the seriousness of the statement. "There's nothing I wouldn't tell you."

"Why do you want me to come?"

It wasn't the question he'd expected. His face tightened in concentration as he took his time assembling his response. "Because whenever you're absent, it's like I can't… I can't _breathe_. I can't think – at least about anything other than where you are and what you're doing. The idea of leaving you here – it's like leaving half of myself to the mercy of the elves. I won't leave you – not when I don't think you're safe."

"You think about what I'm doing," she bit her lip to keep from laughing. She had to hold onto the humor to keep from swooning at his words. "Even when I went to bathe in the creek?"

They both laughed.

"Especially then."

"How ungallant of you."

"And now you know why Fili's heir."

"And I thought it was because he's eldest."

"That and he has an incredible beard."

She snickered, freeing one of her hands to reach out, running her fingertips down his cheek. "I like yours better."

He closed his eyes, pressing his face into her hand. "More of the absence of one."

"It's perfect."

His eyes flickered open mischievously. "Did you just call me perfect?"

"I said you have perfect facial hair – there's a difference, even regarding dwarves."

"But you do think I'm perfect, don't you?" He turned his face to nuzzle against her hand as she rested it on his cheek to run her thumb over the prickly stubble. She breathed in sharply as his lips grazed over the skin of her palm. "I think you are."

"Oh, you're fairly adequate."

He looked up at her, sulking. "Fairly adequate?"

She felt something, a pull somewhere in her chest. "You're everything. And I don't want to leave you either. But if it does happen, if we don't have a choice… promise me I'll see you again. No heroics, no carelessness… if I have to watch you go I need to know you'll come back."

It was asking a great deal. Fighting not for glory, fighting for survival, fringed on cowardice. It won you no songs, earned you little profit… It could mean losing someone so that you wouldn't risk your own person. It was dishonorable, and it wasn't in him. She knew it wasn't. But she needed this untruth now – she needed words to light the abyss that would devour her when he was gone.

"I swear. If we are separated, I will always find you."

She lowered her head, pressing her forehead to his. They sat like that until time lost its hold, and long after that. They stirred only when there came the low call of something in thick dwarvish, the sound carrying through the town. Sylven only made out Kili's name, the rest was gibberish.

Kili sighed heavily. "Bifur."

"What is that in his head?" She remembered the strange shape protruding from the man's hairline.

"Axe." Kili said, as if it were an uninteresting trait. He looked passed her, through the leaves trying to make out Bifur, growing closer judging by his voice. "Thorin's back – they've figured out the map, we're supposed to gather."

"He's yelling that for all the elves to hear?" She quirked a brow.

"Not exactly, but Thorin wasn't leaving the Lord of Rivendell's presence until he'd unlocked the secrets of the map." Kili stood reluctantly, and Sylven let her hand move away from his cheek. "I'll take you back to your room first."

"You shouldn't keep him waiting." She reasoned. "I'll be fine."

He seemed unconvinced, but didn't press the issue. "I'll talk to him – I'll make him understand."

"I know." She told him, giving his hand a squeeze. "Hurry, before Bifur wakes up the entirety of Rivendell."

He glanced over at her, then in a swift sweeping motion he leaned down, placed a hand where the back of her jaw and neck met, and kissed her. She breathed in sharply, painfully unprepared, both for the action and reaction. His lips were warm, and oddly gentle for the boldness of their presence. His smell washed over her, he taste made her head spin. She'd been thrust from any level of emotion she'd known before, and she surrendered herself to lay smashed in the arms of rapture. Somehow their hands had come free, and hers explored his hair eagerly, snaring in an attempt to hold him in this moment forever as their kiss turned into something desperate, hungry.

It was Kili who had the sense to move back, both of them panting in attempt to pacify their burning lungs. He stayed close enough that she didn't have to let him go, and tilted his head as he memorised every detail of her face.

Bifur sounded dangerously close, and so grudgingly she slid her hands out of his hair. "You have a meeting to attend?"

"Meeting?" He murmured. "What meeting."

"Go." She pushed her hands against him gently. "He'll be angry if your late."

Kili gave her a quick peck of a kiss, and it took every part of her to keep from following his lips as he stood tall. "Goodnight."

"Night." She watched him slip away, pushing the branches out of his path before dashing up the steps and out of sight. Only then did she allow herself to slump against the balustrade at her back, bringing her legs up to her chest and hugging them. She sat a long time in the shadow, grinning to herself. She lifted a hand to touch her lips, then giggling like a giddy fool she stood and scuttled back the way they'd come, returning to the home she'd been given in the world that was fresh and new.

She lay on a bed of grass, the dress the elves had given her draped around her as the dirt leaked cold into her skin. The sky above had unleashed it's stars upon the world, and though there was no snow her breath steamed as if winter had come. She pulled her body tighter, trying to fight away the chill.

There came a boom and then a _crack_! She sat up, looking around in alarm. She was on the plains they'd run across fleeing the orcs, but the yellow grass had turned velvety green. In the dark of the night, though, it was a swirling black mass. One of the trees nearby had been uprooted, and she could smell the rich soil. She stood, walking towards it with her bare feet. She hesitated as she faced the wall of roots, and then reached a hand out to run her fingers over the green splintered ends where they'd been torn from their twins in the ground.

She walked down the length of the trunk, staring at the massive gouges in the wood from what looked like claw marks.

From behind her came a low rumble, like the growl of a hundred wargs and just as terrible. Her back seared with heat, not from fire but from the mere presence of creature behind. She turned, and found she stood in the doorway of a massive chamber. From floor to ceiling there were mountains of jewels and gold, such as to make the trolls treasure petty. But still there came the rumble.

"Sylven no!"

She turned and found herself falling, falling into a pit without end. Kili's scream echoed all around her, he begged her to come back, but there was no stopping her plummet into oblivion.

Sylven sat up sharply in bed, gasping and clawing at the air. She knew at once she'd been screaming, her throat was raw. The chemise plastered to her skin, slick with sweat. Sylven scrambled out of the bed, and fled to the night air coming from the balcony. She leaned against a pillar and slid to the bottom, shivering and clutching her knees as she tried to make herself very small. She could still hear him screaming.

She took a bath to clean the salt from her skin, then dawned the dress and moved into the central room. She went over to the bookshelf, but each one she selected was written in long drifting letters she could make neither heads of tale of. She walked around restless, her feet bare.

With a hiss she gave up and went out her door, following the path and beginning to wander again. It must have been late still – it accounted for her energy. Her body had become accustom to being awake in the night and sleeping by day, and without the exhaustion of the entire day hike she had nothing to weigh her mind down. She found herself passing the bench she and Kili had shared before several times before she realized she was looking for him. It was silly – the dwarves would be asleep, surely. But she needed to be certain. She went back to the courtyard, then entered the building she had seen Lindir guide them into before.

She could hear the pop and creak of a fire, and followed it to find a few of the dwarves still awake. Most were little hunched shapes on their bedrolls, but Balin, Ori, and Fili were still awake. Upon further inspection, Sylven realized the firewood had carvings in it. Furniture.

Three dwarves awake, but four bedrolls vacant.

Sylven slipped back the way she'd come, resuming her hunt. It was the smell of pipeweed, in the end, that led her to him.

Kili sat alone in a grove at the bottom of a wide set of stairs, where the trees blocked out the night sky. He ran the mouthpiece of his pipe back and forth over his lower lip as he stared ahead vaccantly. He didn't hear her approach, but stirred as she sat beside him. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head tucking her dress around her feet. "What did Thorin learn?"

"That we've not the time we thought we did." Kili sounded grave. "Gandalf is in some meeting – the elves mean to try and stop us. We'll have to leave before dawn."

Quiet, but for the rush of water and the thrum of insects. Sylven bundled her courage, and asked, "Did you speak to him?"

"He says you will not come with us." Kili's voice was strained. "He says I'm being selfish, that our quest is no place for a woman – skilled or not. He says taking you with us would get you killed."

Sylven sighed, lying back in the grass. "Perhaps we are selfish."

"I don't believe that." Kili watched her over his shoulder. "You could help us – and I'd never let anything happen to you."

The canopy above stirred, whispering in amusement at the mortals and their troubles below. Perhaps Thorin _was_ right. She wasn't even a qualified medical professional, there were an infinite list of things she didn't know. There were poisons she'd forgotten cures for, mushrooms that looked like their medicinal cousins but could kill those who ingested them. Wounds she could clean and bandage, but what good was she when a limb had to be hacked off or a belly wound judged? What place did she have, amongst royalty and heroes?

"Sylven?"

She realized she'd been quiet for some time. Kili lay down beside her, on his side and propping his head up with an arm so he could watch her. "Tell me what you're thinking about."

"I'm thinking about what I'll do when you leave."

He took a drag of the pipe, filtering the smoke out from his lips slowly so it drifted. Sylven watched, then felt a small illumination of past happiness again. She sat up, facing him, and opened her hand. "Teach me how to smoke a pipe."

"What?" He laughed, moving his out of reach.

She leaned over him, snatching it as she brushed against him. He cleared his throat as she brought her prize in front, examining the glowing bed of red tinged leaves. "I just breathe in?"

"More or less." He confessed. "I don't think you'll like it."

She lifted her nose snoodily in the air, placing the end into her mouth and inhailing deeply – too deeply. She let out a wheezing cough, spluttering and puttering out smoke as she coughed, covering her mouth with an elbow as her lung erupted in outrage at the intrusive cloud. Kili burst out laughing, rolling onto his back. She made a face, then shoved the pipe back at him. "That must be the grossest offense to my senses they've I've ever had to suffer!"

"You didn't have to do anything." He pointed out, sitting up and leaning on one arm still, plucking his pipe out of her fingers, keeping his face close. "You looked like a cracked chimney."

She leaned in, kissing him gently before she replied, "An attractive cow, a cracked chimney, you do know how to turn a girl's head."

He teased her lips with his. "Come with me."

"I can't."

"I don't care what my uncle says."

"This is Thorin's quest."

"And you could help him with it."

"He wouldn't let me."

Kili's eyelids lowered as he leaned against her. "Come with me."

"When do you leave?"

He opened his eyes to gauge the world. "There are a few hours yet."

"Good." She pressed her lips against his.


	11. Chapter 11: The Absence

She felt a tingling run the length of her jaw, leaving her skin buzzing. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tighter, nuzzling towards the heat that enveloped her. Gradually she began aware of the rise and fall tilting her chin upward then down, rocking her rhythmically. She let the tendrils of sleep hold her a little longer, fiction shielding her from the ragged edges of reality fast approaching.

His fingers played along her face, tracing the way a blind man would learn the look of a man. It occurred to her then that it was entirely possible the memories of touch held more fast than those of the eyes.

That was when she opened hers, with him so close she hardly had to move to kiss him. And she did, she could not help it. For now she realized the cruelty of her dreams, collecting on the borrowed time when they'd whispered to each other under the bows of ancient oaks. They'd had such little time to give themselves. No detail had been withheld, no memory unshared. Sometimes there'd been no need to speak at all, when they'd watch each other or tease with a nudge. Sylven didn't remember when she passed into slumber, or which had been the last shred of knowledge he'd given her. It all seemed to blend and mix, the hours a finished canvas – a display of desperation to fight the unrelenting moon sinking behind the mountains, to fight the sun encroaching.

"You didn't talk this time," he murmured.

"I guess I've nothing left to say."

She shut her eyes again, shifting carefully under his jacket he'd thrown over them. One sliver of her side was frozen, but not for anything would she complain. "It's getting brighter."

"It doesn't feel like it, does it?"

"No."

The green that had protected them was failing. The world was beginning to become visible once more. The dwarves would be awake, hastily packing. Someone would come looking for him, soon.

"Please, don't stay in this place."

She didn't dare look. She knew if she saw the pain that made the sides of his eyes wrinkle, his lips press taut, that she would break. And she couldn't – not now. She couldn't throw uncle and nephew into discord, couldn't take a day more on that damned road. She wasn't made of the strong stuff the women who made the stories were. She had only her hands to fix what she could of the world. And nothing terrified her more than the thought that when she needed them most, they would fail. She wasn't the woman he saw her to be – she'd blinded him with smiles and affection. Deep in her very core she was weak. At her very center, she was unworthy of him.

"I'll stay here, so you can find me when your quest is done." She tried to keep her voice light, full of ease. "It will hardly be any time at all – you'll see. Thorin has to hurry – you said so yourself. Quick as summer rains, we'll be together again."

She dared a peek, turning her head up. He was conflicted – he knew she could not follow him, and he knew he could not abandon his kin. She shifted up onto her elbow, her hair falling and pooling over her shoulder as she ran a finger down his nose to press against his lips. The first whisper of sunbeam set the red of her hair aflame, and he stared at her in wonder. "It will feel an eternity. Each step will grow harder."

"But you will have your brother, and your friends to keep you moving." She forced her lips to twist in the ghost of a smile. "You'll endure, because you're too good a man to do otherwise. I don't have to like him – but Thorin certainly did make you courageous. I envy you that…"

He didn't answer, and so she lowered her lips to his, which parted so easily to her. After a while, she said the words which hung between them. "We must go."

"I know." He groaned. "I know."

The sun had not yet reached where the dwarves had made their camp, and in the shadow they buckled bags and stamped on the last of the coals. Stillness overcame them as Kili and Sylven entered, her dress stained from sleeping on the ground. She felt Thorin before she saw him, watching them with his face like his precious mountain. Stone – unchanging, unrelenting, unmoving.

For the first time, she didn't flinch from his disapproval. He was taking Kili from her – there was nothing left to harm her with. Fili walked up, carrying his brother's bag. "You'll be needing this."

Kili nodded, taking it appreciatively. Unlike his uncle, Fili gave no sense of ill will. Instead he simply asked, "You've come to say goodbye then?"

"I have." Sylven felt as though she were speaking from a great distance, her world crumbling away. "I hear you have a dragon to slay – try to be careful will you."

He smirked, and for a moment he looked just like his darker brother. "Always!"

He patted Kili's shoulder, pulling him away as the others came to say their goodbyes. They came in their name groupings. Ori, Dori, and Nori bowed together, and then Ori gave her a flower and squeaked, "I found it in some of the food – no sure why."

They moved to admit Bifur Bofur and Bombur, and Bofur presented her with a little figurine of a dragon, the design of the table leg still slightly visible. Oin and Gloin nodded gruffly, giving their bows, then Dwalin and Balin. It was Balin who came forward, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. "It has been our privilege, my dear lady. May your own travels find you safely home again."

She squeezed him back, thanking him for the kindness. Then there came Bilbo. He watched the ground as he came forward, tugging uncomfortably at his jacket. He cleared his throat, looking up with a tilt. "Well, can't say I don't envy you. And, uh, if we do come back – do you… do you plan to stay here?"

"_When_ you come back," She leaned down, and kissed his cheek. She watched him turn a delicate shade of scarlet, "I will be so sick with jealousy over all your adventures – don't you forget a moment of it, you understand? I want to hear it all."

"Perhaps I should write it down for you." Bilbo's brows furrowed. "There might be a lot to remember."

She laughed, and pulled him into a hug. He returned it timidly, then stumbled off speaking incomprehensibly to himself. The dwarves were minding themselves when at last Thorin approached her. She drew up tall, and could not stop the stiffening of her muscles. Not that she tried to.

"You've decided to stay."

"It seems the decision was made for me."

His brows raised, and a voice of reason silently reminded her she was speaking to a king. A king of what once was, but a king all the same.

"This journey… it is no place for a woman. Even one who braves trolls." She'd expected harshness, the same tone he'd given Elrond. It left her disarmed, this Thorin who was something of the legend Kili told her about.

"Keep him safe." She begged. "And… I hope you find what your missing."

He almost seemed to lose some of the frost that hung around him, and he gave a curt nod. "Be well, Sylven Bonemender."

There was nothing left to say, and morning was threatening to make itself known. Fili bowed, and promised he'd get his little brother back to her as soon as he could. Kili lingered as the others moved on. "Do you think some of us will not come back?"

She let out a choking laugh. "Thorin at least. I don't think you could drive him into these walls again if the ghost of his ancestors were chasing him."

She knelt down, trying to make light of their height difference as if that was what was vexing. "Make sure you eat. Clean all of your wounds – you hear me? If they have to ship you back to me with a fever I'll be so cross sickening will be the least of your concerns."

He held her face. "I will. Watch for me – I swear I'll get us there with the speed of the ancestors if I have to carry Bombur on my back the entire way."

Sylven pressed her forehead to his. "Soon, then."

"Soon," he agreed.

She didn't watch him leave, it wasn't in her to do so. She waited until the sound of their paces was gone, and only then did she look to the mountain pass. They were so small, weaving up the craggy mountainside. She swore she saw one, lingering to watch the city, but it could have been a trick of her mind. She went back to her room, feeling as though there were a gap where she'd once been solid. She fell onto her bed, watching as morning rushed into her room in no time at all.

When the tears came, when the sobbing came, it was a grief as all-consuming as the love from which it sprung. She surrendered herself to it, spiraling into the cruelest reaches of her mind. She wanted to feel this suffering, this anguish. She reveled in it. Better to feel this, than to face the hollowness that was his absence.


	12. Chapter 12: The World Ahead At Last

Sylven drew her finger over the surface of the water, watching the ripples as she disturbed the glassy surface. The pool sent waves of crooked lights around the small room, but she failed to see the beauty. Her throat was raw, her eyes red and swollen. He was gone now – she could feel it. The elf girl had come to see if she had gone, but did not disturb her as she heard the weeping. Her cheeks had dried now, and the emptiness had come.

She rose, and began to wander the house. She found a pile of clothes on one of the chairs, enough to wear for weeks. She found a pair of pants made of some black velvety material and dawned those, along with a white sheer undershirt and a thin robe like jacket of pale sage. It had a pronounced collar, good for warmth. But when she put it on all that came to her was the memory of fur and his smell.

She began to wander Rivendell, desperate to escape the thoughts and regret that plagued her. She went down a set of stairs, into what looked like a small garden with a gazebo of interlocking wooden swirls and arches that made the pale timber look more like lace.

For a while it was enough to simply sit, but her thoughts began to return so she fled them again. She passed buildings both lit and dark, over the stone pathways so flawlessly flat it would have made any human builder weep. She paused as she heard voices ahead, speaking what could only be elvish. She had a sudden realization – she might not be allowed to wander. She had come with the dwarves, and though the elves showed them every courtesy Thorin had insisted they were no allies. So where did that leave her, in the eyes of these impossibly perfect immortals? Was she exempt from suspicion for remaining behind, or did that only make her less trustworthy? Did she even want them to see her, so deep in this sorrow?

She dodged into the nearest building, a large dome with no doors, only open archways. There was no furniture, only a somber statue elevated by stairs and holding a large flat plate with shards of something glistening in the dawn light. Sylven rushed to hide behind the figure as the words drew closer, and held her breath as the chamber amplified the sound of footsteps. Before long, they had passed. She waited until her eyes found balance again, then moved out around the figure to look around. Six of the passages led to a balcony or perhaps several, three back out the paths she'd just left. It seemed excessive, to have nine doorways.

She turned to the statue, standing on its solitary pedestal. She drew closer, placing a hand on the edge of what might have been a stone shield, and began to make out the shapes of a sword – the handle, the tip, pieces of varying length slowly narrowing. They weren't places in a line, but there was no question this had once been a blade. She reached forward, running her fingers over the cross guard. There was something… profoundly powerful about the weapon, a whisper of destiny. It thrilled and frightened her, and she drew her hand away quickly. To feel at all was enough to make her hand itch to grab the hilt.

"Narsil." The voice behind her was sad, and slow, as if the words were weighed down by too much seen and felt. Sylven gasped and turned guiltily, to find before her a blond elf woman, tall and slender and painfully glorious. She wore a draping white dress, with gold about the neck. The woman tilted her head, and smiled as if she were the first person who had ever truly seen Sylven. "You are troubled."

"I'm sorry." Sylven said it unthinkingly, a reaction. She was certain now, that this was not a place the elves had expected her to come to.

The woman wasn't angry, however. She strode forward, though she moved with such a gliding grace she seemed to hardly step at all. She stopped beside Sylven, and lifted a hand to run it over the air above the shattered blade. "The sword that freed the races of Middle Earth."

Sylven should have felt awe, but instead she only felt the vacancy again. The desire to see this weapon puttered out, and she moved down the steps. The elf turned, raising a brow. "Such anguish for one so young…"

It was instinctive, but something knew to her to hide her emotions in an instant. "I don't know what you mean."

"Raised by a king, and never to be one himself." Galadriel considered her carefully. "Most would overlook him for his brother. But you have never struggled to see the hearts of those around you. You see in him… hope."

There was no way to prepare, not way to expect this. Bewilderment – how could this woman know? Resentment – she had no right to speak of him. Desolation – hope had left with him. She could not help the feeling that hung over her, that she had made some fatal error. It had been no more than a few hours, and yet some part of her already knew; she had chosen wrong. She had thought it would be easier, to linger in Rivendell. How foolish she had been.

She didn't remember falling to the floor, but that is where she found herself. The woman moved over to her, kneeling and touching her head the way a mother would when her daughter comes seeking refuge. She found herself confessing it, all of it. How she'd made the choice to stay herself, and shoved the blame on Thorin. Her weakness in the face of hardship and peril. Her greed in indulging in loving Kili, her certainty that she was beneath him in every sense of character. She said all the thoughts that came to her, and the blond woman sat and listened with that ancient wisdom. At last, when Sylven was out of confessions, she spoke.

"Do you know me?"

She did not.

"I am Galadriel, Lady of Lórien. And if it is your wish… I will share with you what may come."

Sylven didn't understand, but agreed all the same. Galadriel stood, helping Sylven to her feet. Then she moved away, beginning to walk the room.

"If you remain in Imladris, you will learn more than you ever dreamed of the healing arts. You will grow fond of these walls, and those who surround you. You will wait, hiding in books and behind your herbs and poultices. In time, you will grow to understand something has prevented his return. And one day, men will come for you from your home, and you will return to the world you knew. One of these men will find in you his joy, and you will bear him sons and daughters. You will have moments of exuberant bliss, when the world feels most full."

Sylven heard herself press the woman, "Will I be happy?"

Galadriel's smile faded. "Yes. But you will never feel whole again. Regret has already found you – and it never leaves without a prize."

"So you think I should go?" Sylven took a step forward before she remembered herself and stumbled out, "My – lady."

"There is no right path, Sylven Bonemender. There is only the path you will take, and the one you will not."

"But if I go after them, this emptiness will go?"

Galadriel was silent for a long time then. She moved passed Sylven, going out onto the balcony. Sylven hurried after her, watching intently as the other woman looked out over the beauty and wonder the new day had brought, to which Sylven was so blind. "For a time. You will know joy, and pain, and love. You will rise when you are needed most, become all that others see in you. But if you travel to Erebor," Galadriel turned to face her, "you will suffer greater tragedy than you have ever known. And you will never see these walls again."

Sylven stood, stupefied as her brain flew through the words. She turned away, gripping the smooth rail and shutting away the world, savouring the darkness one more time.

"Yours has never been a life of contentment." Galadriel whispered. "For you the scales live in constant sway. You feel deeper and truer – it is why you have never brought yourself to extinguish life. Your tragedy will desolate you… but when the scales swing back again, you will find the things that tether you… and you will know love once more. Do not dwell on that which has not yet come to pass. Live, and trust what you know to be true. Only then will you decide which path you will lead."

Sylven opened her eyes, and was quite alone. She sighed, looking out over Rivendell. Figures had begun to rise, sun drawing them away from the arms of their dreams. It was a city to call home – mystic, glorious, calm. She tried to picture children, running in the field below her. But they all hair deep rich brown hair, and were smaller than they should have been. She saw a boy and a girl, running to catch each other with braids flying about their faces, shrieking with delight.

She could stay, and find a life of comfort.

But what was it she knew to be true?

It came to her with no effort at all.

She would never love another man but him.

"Well, I really thought you'd be packed by now."

Sylven jumped and Gandalf spoke. He stood in one of the archways leading out of the home of Narsil, his hat on an staff in hand. He watched her, seeming puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you aren't staying here of course."

Sylven approached cautiously. "Why?"

"Come now." He grew gruff. "When we first spoke, I agreed you would be left someone safe and likeable. How do you find Imladris?"

"It's… well it's very nice."

"And?"

"Uh…" She scrambled for a word, trying to understand what the wizard wanted from her. "Pastoral?"

"Indeed." He nodded stiffly. "I think you would find it rather dull in little time at all. Soon you would be so anxious to find a little excitement that you'd go blundering right back into trouble where we found you. No, Imladris will not do."

It was like having Kili's spirit beside her, gripping her hand. A maelstrom of undiluted jubilation. It was devious – devious and perfect. "You could not be more correct. In fact, it is not to my liking at all."

There was hardly any time at all spent on packing, since she found her work was already half done when she returned home. Sylven wasn't sure what to make of the bag set out on her bed, made of dark green material thick and hearty. The buckles were shaped like leaves, made of a shiny copper she couldn't help but run a hand over. It was beautiful. She looked through the clothes she'd been given quickly, taking the white underdresses which she could later rip into strips for bandaging wounds. Food had been parcelled for her in thick waxy leaves wrapped in string, along with a small knife who's sheath was so intricate Sylven felt embarrassed to take it with her. It had to be worth a small fortune.

Along with the knife and bread came a bedroll, blanket, a hooded cloak, a comb meant to hold back her hair, a pair of gloves, and a waterskin.

Sitting at the foot of her bed were a pair of silvery grey boots, made of supple leather. When she slid them on they traveled up just past her knee, hugging her thigh like a second skin. She circled the room a few times, testing the flexible souls which looked so thin yet protected to well. They were a mighty gift.

She braided her hair, then pulled it up into a roll at the back of her head, sliding the comb it. It was silver, showing a swan who's unfurling wing turned into the teeth of the comb. She was surprised how well it held.

And with that, it was time. She slung the pack onto her back, and slipped out the door. She couldn't help rushing down the path, taking the steps two at a time down to the entrance of the Homely House. Gandalf was waiting, carrying nothing with him but sword and staff as always. She was surprised to find Elrond there also, a holding with him a small box.

Gandalf seemed amused by her excitement. "You are ready? "

"I am." She couldn't help glancing at Elrond. The dwarves had left in secret for a reason – someone, the elves she had though, did not want them going on this journey.

Elrond sensed her uncertainty, and held out the box to her. Hesitantly, she took it, pushing back the cover to peek in. She couldn't help the noise that escaped her. She could smell them, those plants the breathed life into those who were fading. Inside the box, which was so impossible thin, were an array of plants. Patches of moss, sprigs of herbs, leaves of very size. On the right side of the kit were a series of tiny wooden round boxes, labelled with the names of the ointments within. Perhaps it was the rawness of her emotions at the time, but she felt her eyes stinging with the tears she thought she'd used up. There was only one thing more precious to her in all the world – he had given her all he could. She had nothing of her own, now. All she was hinged upon the kindness of these two men before her. It was a humbling realization.

"My Lord… I'm…" She tried uselessly to reign in the liquid already gathering at the corners of her eyes. She closed the lid, holding the box close. "You have shown me more compassion than I am worthy of. I'm…"

"I have known Lucile Bonemender more years than you have yet lived." Elrond explained gently. "She would not take an apprentice lightly. There is something within you, something you have not yet come to realize. It is my honor, to do what I can to aid you. You will always be welcome, within these walls."

He pressed his hand to his chest and drew it across in farewell, and clumsily she did the same. Elrond gripped Gandalf's shoulder. "I would recommend haste, my friend. Thorin Oakenshield will not wait long, now the road before him is clear. I fear he rushes to his own destruction, without guidance."

Gandalf nodded, and the ancients separated. Sylven and Gandalf moved alongside each other as they made their way back across the bridge, then up the pass the dwarves had taken. When they had come to the very highest point, the trail bent to the left hugging the mountain. Sylven turned, looking over Rivendell. The sun had unleashed it's might upon the city, and the falls shone like currents of crystal. The buildings looked like ruins of some great kingdom, like buildings out of time. She heard Galadriel's voice, echoing and deep, like ripples of water in some distant cave.

_If you travel to Erebor, you will suffer greater tragedy than you have ever known. And you will never see these walls again._

Deep sadness, spreading through her like frost.

"Lord Elrond is right, we must not linger." Gandalf called in warning, from further down the trail.

Frosts could always be melted, when summer came. She put the security of seeing home again behind her, and strode across the final stretch, passing into the only path there had ever been.


	13. Chapter 13: A Great and Terrible Error

They pressed on, through a sea of squat brush thick and bristle amongst ground dry and cracked and littered with grey stones. From time to time the wizard would speak, drag up conversation to attempt to pack up the void their huffing and footsteps failed to fill.

He asked about her home, before she'd become a ward of Lady Seibel, a place she had little memory of. She'd left it as a child; a building constructed of dead stone, cold and full of the sounds and smells of the dying. She had no memories of her parents but the smell of her mother's deathbed, sickly sweet with the perfumes servants had soaked the room in to cover the stench of plague sores. It was not a pleasant part of her mind to dwell in, and so their talk quickly veered elsewhere.

Next he wanted to know about her training, how she'd come to learn under Lucile – who would have much to explain, whenever Sylven returned. This was easier, and the discussion tided them over till they began to climb upward, toward the snow-capped peaks of the mountains which stood watch over the tundra.

The value of air quickly rose, so neither of them wasted it on chitchat. The incline sharpened at an alarming rate, and soon Sylven's muscles and lungs burned with the exertion, though she dared not make a complaint.

The clouds began to gather, opening in a gale of wind and thick pelting rain. The shale underfoot grew slick and treacherous, and Sylven began gripping the wall of rock on their left, trying to ignore the drop off on to the right, with not but air ending in a sudden stop miles below.

After some time of maneuvering in the wet, Gandalf turned to her in front of a massive crack in the mountain's wall. Thunder boomed cracked far in the distance, accompanied by a flash of lightening forking angrily across the sky.

"We must take shelter!"

Sylven eyed the dwarf traveled road. Would Thorin stop? "What if the others continue on?"

"We cannot help them from the bottom of the cliff." Gandalf said stiffly. "We will wait until the rain has run its course, then we will go on – and not before."

He was not asking her for her opinion, she realized. It did not matter what she said. So she stashed her debate away, and followed him through the crevice, into a pocket in the stone.

There was an odd scratching noise in the blackness, and then a pale light illuminated their sanctuary. From the trail to the back was less than a stone's throw, the sharp brittle rock pressing in on all sides. It was more of an alcove, really, than a cave.

Gandalf swept his staff across, the glowing stone stuffed into the top showing them for certain that they were alone. With a sigh, he sat down upon a stone and looked about. "This will do quite nicely."

She didn't answer, in rebellion for his utter disregard for her concerns. She returned to the entrance to look out, but there was nothing to see. Across the gap was another cliff of black pointed rock, glistening when lightning sparked in the sky. Standing there the rain bounced off the stone and splashed her in a light spray, so she joined Gandalf farther back, pulling her bag off and sitting on the hard alcove floor. "How long do you think it will be?"

He exhaled slowly. "Would you like to conjure you up a report of the weather?"

"Well, it would certainly be useful." She snapped back, shrugging out of her coat – which by some miracle had remained dry inside. She run out what she could, then draped it on a rock before pulling out the cloak and wrapping up. Gandalf settled back, drawing out his pope as she rifled through her bag, pulling out the box. She began sorting through, familiarizing herself with what she'd been given.

Most of the herbs and ointments she had never used before, though she knew their names and properties. They were too rare in her homeland to have ever crossed her path, and she strained her mind going through what Lucile had told her that she had been so unreceptive to in her idiocy. While she toiled smoke drifted and hung in their cavern, moving in fantastical shapes she was utterly oblivious to.

In place fo honey there was an ointment commonly known as Elf's Cloth by her people, though the elves called it Deldewyn. It had a sharp, almost citrus and mint smell, and when rubbed over the damages area it dried and hardened, as good as any bandages to protect and still enable healing. It was better than bandages, in many ways, none the least being the mobility it allowed the user. But there were draw backs as well – heavy rain or dampness could wear it away, leaving the wound exposed again.

There was a container with powdered rust berry, which with water could be worked into a paste to ease pain and combat sickness that had already soured a wound.

One of the round cases held smelling salts to unconscious patients, while there were vials of Moon Tears – a not overly complex, but highly valuable potion – used to the opposite effect. There were wicket leaves to brew as tea to ease coughs and nausea, and biterbane to numb a specific area if the leaves were crushed and then applied. Plants to slow bleeding, petals to induce dreamless sleep. She had all she could ask for, and so while the wizard retreated within his mind Sylven tore her dresses up for bandages, changing her own and skipping the Elf's Cloth, satisfied the healing was well under way.

She thought of Kili, as she pulled tight the knots with her teeth, and where he might be. She hoped he was out of the cold, which could so easy break the strength of a man's body.

"I have something for you."

She'd not expected Gandalf's voice, and jumped at the noise which seemed so loud against the hum of rain. From within his robes he drew out something parcelled in brown cloth, tied with leather string, and held it out to her. Sylven set aside the strip she'd been rolling up, and moved closer to take it. She was surprised by the weight, but that proved nothing compared to what she felt when she drew back cloth to find a blade. It was sheathed in thick leather, with something scribed in elvish curving down the length. The sheath was attached to a long black leather belt, with patterns of vines carved into the leather then painted over in silver. The cross hilt had the face of a wolf at the center where it met the grip, which was smooth and new dark blue leather. The pommel was triangular, not unlike a fang.

She drew out the blade, which was straight but for a subtle curve toward the end. There was writing along the upper edge of the sword, and in the stone's light the metal glowed like liquid moonlight. She tested it in her hand, holding it out at arm's length. It was impossibly light – the blade was narrow but chillingly sharp. It was designed to sever skin and bone with the simplicity of wind stirring leaves.

It was no weapon for a healer's hand.

She sheathed it, her fingers pale upon the sheath. "I cannot kill."

"A time may come when you will have to." Gandalf said softly. "Better to be prepared – better to be armed with the ability to have a choice."

She nodded, but could not bring the thanks to her lips. She never wanted to end life. Not ever.

The world beyond showed no hope of drying and hour later, and so Gandalf decided they would sleep till the rain ended, or till light returned if the storm took the sun with it.

Sylven gave him her bedroll, having no inclination to rest. While he slipped into dreams she tried to busy herself reciting the ingredients to poultices, not speaking but rather mouthing to words so as not to disturb him. When she grew tired of that, she moved to the mouth of their shelter, keeping just outside of the water's reach. She watched the downpour, her mind beginning to work Galadriel's words over in her mouth the way one turned a stone in hand, examining from each angle. She murmured 'The Siren of Adaile', and examined the details of Bofur's dragon. She twirled the pretty flower from Ori between her fingers, and thought of Bilbo's seed cake. She hoped Thorin had not been so ram-headed as to press on in such terrible weather.

The longer she sat, the more vulnerable she became, until doubt crept in on skeletal fingers, crawling up her spine. Sylven slid away the toy and flower, and made silent prayers for the storm to break. She chipped at the rock with her fingernail, drummed her fingers against the floor.

A better woman would have done as she'd been bid.

But Sylven had already come to grips that she was not a figure of heroism. And so she placed the box inside her bag, and did up the buckles. She pulled on her jacket under the cloak, and after a long internal struggle took up the sword and did up the belt around her waist. She pulled up the hood, and stood a moment watching the wizard sleep. His light would be incredibly handy, but she could not bring herself to leave him in shadow. He had presented her with the secret passage with which to return to this quest. She owed him enough.

She went out into the wet, and held tight to the wall as she set off again. How many times she thought about going back, she couldn't count, but the thought that Kili might be walking also in this moment kept her from ever glancing back. Slowly she became accustom to the new weight upon her hip, and the ways to place her feet in the cracks of the stone to keep from risking sliding. Time lounged about, and she seemed to go a very short distance in a great amount of time. Never once did the water relent, and eventually the path began to narrow. There were bits of stone everywhere here, as if pieces of the mountain had been sprinkled there. She squinted, trying to see if there was any sine of gouges in the rock, but the water blinded her, and she had to abandon the effort.

But as she came to a large dent in the mountain, as if something have scooping away part of the cliff, she noticed a large gape. An actual cave. And coming from it… was orange light.

She entered slowly, her wet feet slapping noisily against the earth making her wince. She stopped, looking around. It was oddly warm in this place, and somewhere there was the light. She held her breath, but there was nothing to hear. So she moved further in, searching until at last she came upon the source.

She crouched down, mesmerized by the little lantern before her. It was metal atop, with a tiny handle, and the body was red glass, which accounted for the orange glow. When she opened it, she found the candle nearly burnt to its end, and it flickered dangerously. She shut it quickly, standing and looking around. They'd been here – and not so very long ago.

She began rushing through the cave, hunting for any other trace. An irrational feeling of dread had begun to build inside her, and try though she might she could not think of a reason for leaving the light. There were other ways to mark their passing for Gandalf, ways that would not alert an unfriendly visitor to their proximity. Thorin was too smart and too paranoid to be so clumsy.

She stooped down as she saw something on the floor, a patch of fabric. She seized it in her hand, trying to pick it up, but it hardly gave at all, and once at its length did not move at all. Sylven hesitated, then went over to the lantern and brought it to inspect the fabric. What she saw made no sense at all. The little flap of brown lay, have swallowed by the rock. There was sand over the ground, but in tugging she'd cleared enough away that she could see a delicate seem where the fabric was trapped.

She put the lantern aside, and pulled as hard as she could.

From somewhere deep below, there game to grinding of gears. She stiffened, then leapt to her feet staggering back. She watched as the sand began to sink into the seem, chasing after her as she back peddled. She went to draw her sword, realizing it would be wise, but did so far too late. The floor opened up, and Sylven let out an unholy shriek as she plummeted into the earth, smashing against and rock and sliding, rolling, falling. Then the rock she'd been sliding on disappeared from under her, and she came crashing onto a bowl like structure of wood and metal. As she landed, the air gushed from her in a single go, and she rolled wildly onto her back heaving and trying to get it back.

Something landed on her face and she screamed with what little air she'd gained, thrashing wildly and throwing it off. She didn't stop till her back was pressed to the wood of the catching mechanism, and she sat gasping and staring wide eyed at the large flap of cloth – torn from one of the dwarves clothes as they too went down.

From all directions, their came a sound like insects pouring from a hive. There were cackles, squeals, the shriek of metal dragged across rock. Sylven looked around the massive carven, down the narrow bridge of rock before her, railed with wood slapped together with mismatched bits of sharp metal. From around the corner of the path, she saw the shadows begin to form in a massive black expanse. As the little creatures poured out towards her, clawed fingers snatching eagerly at her, Sylven realized just how terrible a mistake she had made.


	14. Chapter 14: Goblins, Goiters and Gandalf

Of all the creatures she had been introduced to over the past weeks, there was no question that goblins were the ugliest.

They were short and thin, with triangular heads that made their yellow eyes bulge from their skulls. Their fingers were abnormally long and narrow, their teeth as yellow as their eyes and sitting in beds of black gums. The goblins moved like ants, crawling over everything – each other included.

She only had time to draw her sword before they were upon her. She swung it back and forth, forcing the mob back as the blade hissed through the air. The goblins clacked their teeth and squealed, the crowd still milling as they tried to find a way around, the word 'Elf' circulating amongst the mob. Sylven got to one knee, slashing angrily. She used the only word she remembered Elrond speaking. "Mithrandir!"

They shrieked and began to move about more hastily, agitated by what she'd said or simply the language itself.

Then something jumped onto her shoulders from behind, throwing her forward. Her face hit the ground, and the cut above her brow exploded into pain as it tore open again, the blade flying from her hand. She pushed off the ground, reeling back onto her feet as the goblin clung to her, nails dragging across her face. She drove back an elbow, but it was useless. As she struck her attacker the others were already surging forward.

Hands, millions of gnarled fingers scrabbled at her clothes as she kicked and swung, dragged down under all of them. She was forced onto her stomach, and while she was lifted up some climbed on top of her, clamping hands over her eyes blinding her. No matter how hard she tried, she could hardly move at all. There were too many, holding her limbs and the sides of her head restraining her as they carried her, bobbing and chanting, "Elf! Elf! Elf!"

Then the hand on her eyes moved a finger near her lips. She snatched at it, biting down as hard as she could. The goblin shrilled, and she caught glimpses of wood planks and goblin shoulders through the cracks of its fingers as it tried to get it's hand back, but her mind was consumed with the nauseating blood gushing into her mouth. Everything it touched began to burn, and she spat the finger out, black viscous blood spraying with it as she spat and coughed, trying to get clear.

Something hit the back of her head, more hands on her face, and then she was falling again. She put her hands out franticly, but her knees hit first, jarring against the stone. She pushed herself up, sitting back on her heels, drinking in her surroundings desperately. All around her hugging the walls of the cavern were level upon level of wooden platforms, crowded with moving figures that could only be thousands upon thousands more goblins. They spanned up so far she had to strain her neck to see, and continued on beyond what the edge of the ridge allowed her to see.

But taking up the majority of her view, was something as large as a troll but far more abhorrent.

Blubberous, pustule ridden, and with a goiter the size of a small horse, it seemed only fitting that the king of the goblins was the most hideous of them all.

"Well now, first dwarves, and now elves?" He leaned forward on his massive throne, the gathering of goblins he used as a footrest squawking as he waved his staff capped in a skull to gesture behind her. "Is there no end to the impertinence?"

She knew better than to turn. She did. But as the flower to the sun she was helpless against the pull of knowing he was so near. They were all there, starring at her with the goblins spread amongst them holding them. Only Thorin remained composed – and for a moment their eyes met and she knew he realized what she did. There was hope to be found, if they could weave the deception. Her hair had loosened from its place and now had her ears covered. She wore elvish clothes, carried one of their blades. It could work.

It was no simple thing, to look indifferent as she found Kili near the front. His dark eyes were swollen with distress, and some darker maelstrom beneath. The claws of the goblin as run across her face in a streak, and she knew there was blood – its salty tang was detectible amongst the after taste of goblin still stinging in her mouth. This was the first time he had to experience what she had when he'd run out to fire on the orc that was about to discovered them all as they fled. He needed to trust her. He had to let her try.

So Sylven faced the goblin king, with his white stringy hair and crown of what might have been shin bones. She pictured herself slipping into another skin, another body. She tried to distance herself from her past, to draw close her memories of Rivendell. When she spoke, she kept her voice serene and elevated.

"Apologies," She dipped her brow for the briefest of moments. "I should have sent word ahead that I was coming. If I had realized you were otherwise engaged, I never would have stopped in. I can return later, if you prefer?"

"You're a cocky one." He roared with laughter, the goiter bobbing in front of her in a very disconcerting display. He cut short in an instant and growled, "I use the skulls of cocky elves for my furniture."

Fresh searing fear. Sylven had to push her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep from making a noise as he pressed on.

"So what, pretty elf, are you doing in my kingdom?"

She inhaled through her nostrils to give her mouth a moment more to untangle, then spoke. "The dwarves left Imladris by night, knowing my Lord Elrond could not allow them to continue their quest. I was sent to stop them, and return their leader to Lord Elrond to insure they would not continue on."

"So the elf lord sent only you?"

Sylven leaned forward, leaning her head to the side and letting a slow grin spread over her face to chilling effect. "I am all that is required."

"Well, you can rest easily." The king sat back. "They will not be continuing on. Of course, neither will you… bring the chains!"

She tried to get to her feet but the goblins were on her in an instant. She tried to get them off but again she was pulled down, and cold iron clasped around her wrapped wrists. The metal links clanked loudly as the king took them up in his hand, and she screamed as he yanked, forcing her to scramble forward to avoiding being dragged.

It was too much.

Kili tried to break forward, bellowing, "Leave her alone! Get your hands off of her!"

The goblin king jerked his head in the dwarf's direction, eyes narrowing as he continued to fight. "What's this? Oh how very touching." He yanked on the chains, and Sylven grit her teeth as she was pulled to her feet then just high enough that she dangled. "A dwarf, trying to protect an elf! You wouldn't expect it to be so adverse to his interests, to have you chained up."

She grunted as he slackened the chains, dropping onto the ground. She stood, shaking her head. "Dwarves are… emotional. I suspect it pricks his sense of honor."

"That, or perhaps you're the human who traveled with them."

The chains snapped taught, and she fell forward, dragging against the wood. The dwarves began to struggle, shouting and cursing and joining Kili as she goblins pulled at her hair, showing her rounded ears. One jumped up and down on her chest, hooting, "Human! She's the girl! Human!"

"We'll do her first, then!" The king announced, dragging her out of the group and dangling her in front of his face. "She will pay the price, for lying to me."

He turned her, and Sylven felt whatever courage she'd presented putter out as she saw the machines approaching, devices made to lengthen the process of death. There were spikes and restraints and pots of fire, blades and cranks and wheels. They were close now, winding along the wooden pathways built on stilts.

Apparently torture was what brought out the bard in the king. He began to swing her as he stood, belting out, "Bones will be shattered, necks will be wrung! You'll be beat and battered, from racks you'll be hung! Stowed down here and never be found! Down in the deep of Goblin Town!"

They were too preoccupied watching her to notice the one goblin, picking up a sword from the weapons pile confiscated from the company. He began to draw it open, then let out a wail so loud it cut across the ruckus. It threw Thorin's sword forward, scrambling back. The goblins went mad – some fleeing, some running about yowling, pelting the dwarves with rocks and fists. The king dropped Sylven, scurrying back to climb onto his throne.

"I know that sword! It is the goblin cleaver! The biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!"

Sylven saw a goblin pelting Thorin with a whip, and took her chance to run for a sword. She a goblin smashed into her from the side, sending her reeling backward to the very edge of the pit as the king screamed for their deaths. She saw Thorin go down, and managed to right herself and throw the goblin off, sending it reeling into the darkness. She ran toward him, but she would never make it in time. She saw the crooked blade lift high above him, ready to come swinging down and open flesh.

And then a boom, like the crack of a glacier split in two. Light became a physical thing, throwing all off their feet and onto the ground.

For a moment, perfect silence.

Then the fires began to burn again, and the stunned assembly began to stir, searching for the source.

And there, of course, was the wizard. He stood alone, sword drawn and staff brandished high. He looked over those he knew as each sat up. He spoke with a voice meant to stir the hearts of those with any valor left to them. "Take up arms. Fight._ Fight_!"

Each of them answered. With a savage scream even Sylven went for her sword, tossing Fili his as the dwarves began swinging hammer and throwing axes. A goblin came at her, a knife held aloft, and went down head first as an arrow lodged in its eye. She turned, and Kili rushed forward grabbing her and barking, "Run!"

"Kili!" She screamed in warning, pulling him back as a goblin tried to jump on him from the level above. She didn't think. She swung, and blade split flesh and a flash of black. She stood, stunned as he fell onto the ground, convulsing. She saw another go down beside her, clutching it's face where some projectile had hit it, but the knowledge that she'd doomed a life overwhelmed any sense of danger for that instant.

It was the primary sin of any healer, to do harm. It was good, that killing came to her hard. It would the first of many on the road ahead. She wanted them all to matter. She never wanted death to become something she took in stride.

But Kili was grinning, and shaking her he shouted, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen! Come on!"

They followed the wizard on down the trail of wooden planks as Thorin knocked the goblin king off balance, sending him falling back off the edge. United they began the flight from Goblin Town.


	15. Chapter 15: The King Slayer

She tried to stay close to Kili, but the task proved impossible the second he let go of her. They only made it a few steps before goblins came pouring in on them from every direction, dropping from above, crawling up from the deep, charging at them from ahead, chasing from behind.

There was nothing to do but run and swing, and depend on the animalistic drive to survive.

As much as it sickened her, Sylven knew perfectly well how severe the strings of life with a single blow. She had no experience with a sword, but she'd trained extensively in the weaknesses and flaws of a body. The delicate system of vital blood streams in an exposed neck, the space just beneath the ribcage that left the heart vulnerable to a blade stuck upward. She tried to count those she fought back, but there were too many, too much insanity. Just lots of blood, howls, and footfalls.

She stopped to slash at the neck of a goblin and lopped it's head clean from it's shoulders, sending up pulsating blood. She hesitated a moment, falling to the back before she found her feet again. She turned to run backward, hacking at the goblin ranks and screaming. Then she was dragged forward, and turned in time to realize they had split into two groups – half had gone up a ramp that was no behind. She saw Kili running above her and cursed, ramming her sword between the ribs of a goblin clinging to her foot and kicking it off out into the empty air. Their paths reunited at a rope bridge, and she hurried to catch up just behind him.

"Get in front of me!" He ordered, but they were beginning to stretch thin. Everywhere dwarves were being forced to stop to fend off the swarm. Kili skidded to a stop, throwing out his arm to catch her as a pack seeped from a rope bridge above in front of them. He let out a cry in something dwarvish, then charged – sword clasped in hand. It was the bravest thing she'd ever seen.

For the first time, she felt a stirring in her chest. She gripped her blade, and donned the other body again. She dispensed with reservations – she surrendered herself to the thirst for glory, victory, and yes – even blood.

Their enemies fell left and right, and soon the dwarves were on the move again, always on the path that looked straightest, always with Gandalf near the head with his glowing staff.

"Cut the ropes!" Thorin ordered, and Sylven turned to follow his gaze to a mass of goblins swinging towards them. She looked to the rope attached to the rail in front of her and slashed as the others attended to the ones closest, and with a echoing creak the level above them pitched forward, dropping into the air and catching the swinging goblins, dragging them down as the structure was dashed upon the rocks below.

Then came the arrows.

Sylven ducked as one flew overhead, hitting an unintended goblin behind her, shouting a warning to the others. She looked around wildly for Kili, who struck one aside with his sword. He grabbed up a ladder, catching two, three more on the wood before he dropped the ladder forward ontop of several goblins, catching them in the spaces between the steps and charging forward, forcing them backward with the help of Dwalin and Bofur. She tried to get to him, the ladder dropped into a space, forming a bridge which Fili kicked out behind them, they entered into a path under another directly attached boardwalk.

She would have nightmares about the next instant for many nights.

Though it was impossible to detect one noise from another, she swore she heard the sound of the arrow imbedding itself in Kili's arm. He only grunted, face contorting in pain as he misstepped, stumbling and grabbing his arm. She must have yelled his name, because Fili pushed her aside to get to his brother, grabbing him under the wounded arm and saying something to him.

She didn't think. She sheathed her sword and stormed forward, grabbing Fili. "Keep fighting! I have him!"

Fili hesitated, but then a clawed hand tried to grab at Kili from the other side and he was forced to let his brother go to drive the point of his blade into the monster's face. Sylven stooped down, struggling to get to his height.

"I'm fine!" Kili tried to convince her, but he was cradling the arm against his chest as they moved much slower.

"You have an _arrow_ in your arm!" She screeched. "That is _far_ from alright."

But then the ground under them was shifting. She grabbed hold of him to keep him stead as like a pendulum they were swung forward over a gap.

"Jump!" Dwalin ordered, but only a few made it over – she and Kili not amongst them. She forced him forward, away from the foes behind as they came closer and closer, and several of the beasts leapt on to try their luck. As they swung back, she had to shove Kili to force him off first, then she leapt into the air. The moment of panic as she fell, and then she landed none to gracefully, staggering into the dwarves who helped to catch her and the others from going off the edges. Onward, ever onward, until Gandalf struck the stone above them with his staff and sent a round boulder crashing down ahead of them clearing the way.

But then they came to another bridge, build of sturdier construct. They were halfway across, when from underneath the goblin king smashed upward, lurching his fat up onto the bridge and squirming out, blocking their path and forcing them to a standstill. The dwarves at the back turned to fend off the enemies as they lined up eagerly, cackling. Gandalf took the front, and Sylven drew her sword again as the king boomed, "You thought you could escape me?"

He swung the skull of his staff down then slashes, knocking the wizard back. She rushed forward to help catch and stabilize him, holding onto his side as they got Gandalf back upon his feet. The king jeered, leaning his putrid face down to their level. "What are you going to do now, wizard?"

Over the past four weeks, Sylven had experienced more cruelty and malice than she had ever known. She'd seen wolves chase old eccentric men, farmers watch their wives devoured, men die with no hope of glory, and no way to ever have their loved ones know how they fell. She'd seen evil in the eyes of orcs, tasted goblin blood, experienced having her love torn from her arms by her own inadequacies.

Had the girl who'd set out from the manor house been dropped in this very moment, she might have cowered and hid. But Sylven was eclipsed in that moment by an epiphany. If she did not help to rid the world of the malevolent forces to intent on destruction, then one day, there would be no girls like she used to be. No innocence. No goodness.

Perhaps it was madness. It was certainly stupid. But with battle cry of sounds foreign to her mouth, she charged forward and jabbed the king in his eye. He yelped, grabbing his face as he lurched back. She sliced, and his exposed bellow opened in a jagged red smile.

He fell to his knees, clutching at the lethal blow. His head lilted to the side, as if in contemplation. "That'll do it."

She swung, and slashed open bellow the bulge of his neck. She had to move back as he collapsed forward, shaking the planks as his massive dead weight hit. The absence of noise, in which she lowered her sword and stared.

Then there was the groan of wood pushed beyond its capabilities, and the platform began to quake. Then came the massive crunch as it gave way under them. From where the king had fallen to where the bridge started snapped clean off, plunging them into the chasm they'd pitched so many others into. She must have yelled – they all were as the wood skated against the rock wall skidding them down toward the imminent end. They smashed through level after level of structures, until the pass began to narrow and slow their descent.

When at last the ground came, the wood buckled and they smashed – bodies crashing against each other and bits of wooden shrapnel flying every which way as they all cried out. No one spoke as the dust began to settle, pain blooming in them all from the landing.

Sylven pushed debris off herself, blinking and rolling her head around, plague by intense vertigo. She saw Gandalf stirring from under some planks.

Then came Bofur's voice, oddly chipper. "Well, that could have been worse."

With a triumphant thump, the goblin king's corpse landed atop them. Everyone shouted, and somewhere Dwalin bellowed, "You have got to be joking!"

Sylven rushed forward, pushing aside planks till she found Kili laying on his back, staring upward in a sort of daze. She took either side of his head. "Are you hurt? Can you move?"

He smiled sleepily. "You know, your eyes get all squinty when your concerned for my well-being. It's rather touching."

She laughed in relief, leaning her forehead to his. "You have got to be the biggest fool I've ever met."

"Says the girl who ran at the goblin king." He teased, leaning his lips up to kiss her brow. "I missed you."

"Are you two done? It's sickening." Fili called, waving his arms from under a layer of walkway. "I'd like to at least be free to move away from the sounds of lip smacking."

Sylven chuckled, then clambered over to grab his arms, tugging him out as the others began to aid each other.

"Gandalf!"

Sylven whipped around as Kili yelled for the wizard.

She followed his gaze, to above where a flood of every goblin in Goblin town was pouring down the cliff face towards them.

"There's too many. We cannot fight them!"

"Only one thing will save us now." Gandalf called. "Daylight. Come!"


	16. Chapter 16: Into the Fire

Fili helped her pull Kili out cautiously, the arrow in his arm having snapped off on the fletching end. Then, again, they were running, through passages carved into the stone that seemed impossibly natural.

They came bursting out into the dusk without ceremony, clambering down the hillside covered in prickly brush and needle ridden pines. They kept going till the passage was well out of view, and only then collapsed puffing and gasping, dropping onto the earth.

Sylven turned at once to Kili, gripping his arm and leaning against a tree, his eyes shut. She pulled her cloak and pack off, shouting, "I need help!"

Someone dropped beside her, but she was too busy examining the arrow to pay them any mind – it was probably Kili. She opened her back, dragging out the box and tearing off the lid, haunted by Galadriel's voice ringing in her ears.

_You will suffer greater tragedy than you have ever known_.

Not him. Not him.

She plucked up two bitterbane leafs and began crushing them between her hands, spitting on her palm to speed the processes. Her skin prickled, but she ignored it. "Get his shirt away from the cut – tare the sleeve if you have to. Careful -" she cut off as it sunk in that it was Thorin beside her, Fili hovering behind him. They both stared at her intently – they all were, she could feel it.

"Careful not to touch the arrow at all if possible. The end has snapped off – we don't want to get splinters in the cut."

Thorin nodded, and took his nephew's arm with surprising gentleness. His deep voice was deft and calm. "Kili, open your eyes."

He did what his uncle said – it was what he did, whenever he was lost. He let out a little chuckle. "Look at you playing nursemaid. Mum would love to see this."

Thorin gave a ghost of a smile, then tore wider the gap in his sleeve. Kili continued on reflectively. "You know what? I don't think she would. She was always a little squeamish, and well, I'm -"

"Bleeding out." Sylven leaned forward, smearing the clear gel like substance around the outside of the wound, skirting around the shaft of the arrow. "Sit up. I need two more to hold his shoulders!"

Fili was there in an instant, then every dwarf desperate to lend a hand – which was to say all of them. Kili tried protesting as she leaned forward to push apply the bitterbane to the other side of the gouge. She wiped the excess on her pants, eyeing the arrow again. When it had broken in the fall it hadn't been clean – now the end was sharp and letting out dangling splinters.

"I need to cut the end – otherwise when we pull it through we'll leave wood shards and they'll fester." She was talking them all through it now, but most importantly herself. She rifled through her bag, pulling out the dagger. It was sharp, but not what she needed. "Does anyone have a serrated edge?"

The rifling of everyone for their weapons, but Fili passed her his – blade on one side, saw teeth on the other. A practical dagger. She touched Kili's unharmed arm. "I can make you sleep – this is going to hurt, badly. If you aren't completely certain you'll be able to handle it you _need_ to tell me now. Because you can't be squirming when I pull it out."

"I'm not scared." He wasn't teasing now. She'd never seen him so straight faced. "I trust you."

She thought about arguing, but what time was there. Their light was fading fast, as she couldn't do this in the dark – not to mention the goblins who could come pouring out after them. They had to get it done now.

She took a deep breath, then nodded. She removed her coat, rolled up her sleeves, then picked the knife back up. "Hold him down."

Kili lay back reluctantly as she moved up beside his shoulder as each dwarf laid a hand on his arm or chest or shoulder. There was something strangely powerful about the moment – the strength of their kinship. Each man here would die for the others. They would do anything to protect one of their own. She took hold of the arrow – holding tight though she saw the pain it caused. She couldn't slip up – it had to be done right.

She began to saw.

He tried to be brave, but soon curses were fighting their way out from his clenched teeth. She had to slow at the end, to keep the wood from fracturing again, but then it was done. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him the greater part of the pain was done. But she'd be lying, and she'd been taught that the man you preformed healing on must never be lied to. That mountain might have taken the last shred of her former humanity, but she had to cling to what she knew to be right here and now.

"Sit him back up." She shifted behind him as the dwarves helped him up. She paused a moment, reminding herself it was no stranger she was working on. This was the man she'd given up hope of any happy ending for – a choice she didn't regret, even now.

She touched the back of his head, and he groaned softly. "Can't we just stick to this?"

Leaning forward Sylven kissed his head. "Should have listened to the professional when I offered you the potion. Get ready."

She clasped her hand around the arrow as close to his arm as she dared, then began to pull. She had to go slow, and his body began to twitch involuntarily as she dragged the shaft through his flesh. It would have been ugly, if the others hadn't been there to keep him steady.

"Put a cloth over it." She ordered as the arrow passed through the front of his arm completely. "Something clean – the white rolls in my kit."

She didn't look up from her work – she didn't dare. Time stretched painfully, and in the back of her mind she noticed Gandalf counting quietly from where he stood. Then it was free, and Kili gasped in relief.

She looked at the blood stained wood, searching for any bits missing. There were none, that she could see. Kili lay back into her lap, panting. She pulled his arm up, gesturing for more cloth. Thorin handed her a role, and then when asked the small jar of Elf's Cloth. She applied it gingerly within the wound, the dwarves milling about torn between a need to know he was safe and not wanting to disturb her work.

"What is that?"

She didn't look to Thorin. Gandalf was counting more loudly.

"It will seal up the damage, allow it to heal without risk of him growing sick – provided nothing detached as the arrow passed through. It will also work as a sort of binding, bringing the wound closed sooner."

"So he'll live with that inside him?"

"It dissipates over time I imagine." She put the jar down. "This is going to sting, Love."

She pushed her fingers into the cut, and Kili rammed his good fist into the dirt growling in dwarvish. Fili hurried forward. "Mind what you're doing will you?"

If another man had spoken to her like that she might have objected, but instead she nurtured patience. "It all needs to be covered. There." She removed the bloody finger, grimacing. "Almost done, handsome."

Kili mumbled something, shutting his eyes as she began to wrap his arm.

"Where's Bilbo?" Gandalf called. Sylven looked up. "Where is our hobbit?"

Everyone looked around wildly, as if he was hiding behind a rock. Kili sat up, and she inhaled sharply, leaning forward to finish the bandage. "Gently!"

"Curse that Halfling!" Dwalin spat. "Now he's lost? I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!" Dori cried.

"Where did you last see him?" Gandalf demanded.

"He was not with them when I arrived." Sylven called, thinking back. She should have noticed, the very moment she looked at them all. She'd been so preoccupied with Kili…

"I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us." Nori offered.

"And what happened exactly?" Gandalf rushed at the star haired dwarf. "Tell me!"

"I'll tell you what happened." Thorin growled, folding his arms and turning from watching Kili and Sylven. "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out his door. We will not be seeing out hobbit again. He is long gone."

"And just when I thought I might like him." Sylven muttered under her breath – and she was not speaking of Bilbo. Kili and Fili exchanged looks, and the others shifted uncomfortably.

"No. He isn't."

Sylven turned as the voice piped up from behind them, and felt her face nearly crack with the beam she couldn't help but wear when she saw her favorite hobbit standing alone beside a tree, in his suit clothes but smiling with a shy pride. The dwarves grinned and sighed, and Gandalf chortled, "Bilbo Baggins! I have never been so glad to see someone in my life."

"Bilbo." Kili laughed, waving as he leaned back against Sylven's chest. She winked at the hobbit as he perked up to see her. "We'd given you up!"

"How on earth did you get passed the goblins?" Fili threw it.

"How indeed." Dwalin muttered.

Bilbo stood awkwardly a moment, then gave a nervous laugh and stuck his hands into his pockets. Gandalf was quick to intervene. "Well, what does it matter? He's back."

"It matters." Thorin replied abruptly. "I want to know: why did you come back?"

Bilbo looked at the exiled king, then began. "I know you doubt me – I, I know you always have. And your right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home. And that's why I came back; because you don't have one – a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can."

They all absorbed his words for a moment. Sylven had never heard such an eloquent speech, full of honesty and simple hope. She leaned forward, resting her brow against Kili and moving her hand under his, his fingers twining. Her motivations were selfish – she felt ashamed, now, that before the quest for Erebor had been so inconsequential.

Then came the howls she'd hoped never to hear again. Kili scrambled to his feet, and Sylven sealed the Elf's Cloth quickly packing up her kit and yanking her coat on as she clambered to her feet, pulling on her cloak.

"Out of the frying pan." Thorin said, almost to himself.

"And into the fire." Gandalf finished. "Run. Run!"


	17. Chapter 17: The Clash of Blades

They were up and gone, running further down the hill chasing the failing light, driven onward by the howls that stalked their shadows. Sylven let nothing separate her from Kili this time, insuring he was always in front of her.

There was no sense in the running, ultimately. Sylven dove forward, tackling Kili as she heard the monstrous snarl – she swore she felt hot breath upon her neck. The warg launched over them, bounding on a rock and down into the midst of the fleeing group. The others kept running, but it spun round and charged. Sylven saw the flicker of a blue blade , and then watched the beast run itself onto Bilbo's tiny sword. It dropped to the ground, and she hurried to her feet, helping Kili up and forcing him onward as the sun at last left them to their fate.

Not him. Not him.

More wargs descended upon them, Dwalin smashing one back with his hammer while Ori let out a desperate cry and ran with a sword above his head, the creature coming down on it and splitting its own throat. Gloin and Nori reached their problem first, barely managing to stop in time as they realized – the ground dropped off. They'd reached the end of the world – or so it looked by moonlight.

"Up into the trees." Gandalf demanded. "All of you! Up!"

Sylven took the chance to get her pack onto one shoulder as Fili leapt up into the nearest tree, then held out his arm. "Kili!"

"Sylven first." Kili shook his head.

"Oh don't be a thick… man!" She snorted. "I swear by all the gods I will throw you into the tree if you don't _get up there!_"

For a minute he stared blankly at her. "Did you just threaten to toss me?"

A warg smashed onto the ground beside them, and an axe sprung from the side of his head. Sylven looked at Dwalin, standing with his hand still outstretched. "Hurry up!"

Kili sighed, then grabbed his brother's arm and jumped as best he could. He complained as Sylven rushed forward to push him the rest of the way, but she was more concerned with getting herself up as the wolves descended. Between her and Fili they managed to get him several branches up before the wargs crashed against the trunk of the tree, howling triumphantly and leaping into the air, snapping hungrily at branches.

Sylven shifted on the branch she was straddling, looking down into the eyes that glowed in the pale light. Teeth flashed hungrily, and claws tore strips from their tree which shook dangerously. Then they gradually stopped, circling the bottom and turn round.

She heard Fili and Kili inhale sharply, and followed their gaze to a single orc, pale and massive, riding a white warg with scars above its eyes. He was littered with the white puckers of distorted flesh, but his looked almost like war paint. They lined up perfectly, as though this orc carved his skin for amusement. His one arm ended far sooner than it should have – and in place of a forearm a pointed mace was lodged, the end sticking out from passed his elbow. He was horrifying – but that did not account for the fear she saw in the dwarves eyes. They looked to Thorin, watching as he stared at the orc in disbelief.

From the king in the next tree over, she heard the pale orc's name. "Azog."

Azog leaned forward, sniffing the air loudly. He called out something in his language, and Thorin's hands twisted on the branches he held as if he pictured it was the orc's throat he held. Somewhere amongst the razor snarls and gurgling she heard 'Thorin' and 'Thrain'. Thorin whispered something, but Sylven could not hear. Azog lifted the mace he held in his only hand, pointing it at Thorin. He gave some command, then waved the mace above his head. The wargs behind him lurched forward, and the ones at the bottom of the trees began leaping again – higher now, mad and starving for the fresh stream of red blood. The trees pitched dangerously as the weight of the mutated wolfs smashed against them.

Sylven shrieked as she yanked her legs up, fangs snapping where her feet had been as one warg clung to the branch under her. Kili roared her name, but then someone dropped in front of her, driving a blade down. The warg let out a noise that would have been pitiful if it hadn't been so keen to devour her, and Fili twisted and pulled his sword out from the beast's throat, letting it fall to the earth landing on the others. He crouched, holding the branch over his head. He gave Sylven a little smirk. "Can't have my brother's woman eaten by wargs."

"And I thought you didn't care." She laughed weakly.

Then there came the groan and snap below, and the tree gave way. There was a sort of chain reaction. Their and Thorin's trees smashed forward into the next, throwing them into the branches there, and then again. There was no time to think of the bruises they should be so lucky to live long enough to form, only leap as the tree began to get closer to the snapping jowls waiting eagerly.

When finally they stopped, Sylven had to climb to get high enough to understand what had happened. Every dwarf, hobbit, human, and wizard was now in a single tree – the last tree, which clung to the precipice.

Sylven looked around wildly, and there were the brothers, Fili gripping Kili across the chest and gulping in air hungrily. She saw Bilbo waving and grabbed the back of his coat, steadying him on the branch across from her. He let out a grateful noise, and she nodded, but all stared at the wargs beginning to test the trunk.

From high up, something shot downward – a burning orange, which dropped onto the needles below and caught flame, bursting into a blaze. Sylven strained to see Gandalf, grabbing pinecones and bringing them to his staff, blowing to spread sparks and lite the small bundles. He used one to light another, then shouted, "Fili!"

Fili cupped his hands then gasped as the cone landed, Bilbo snapped off a cone and leaning low to offer it to Fili. They lit them, and soon everyone was snapping off cones and sharing fire and tossing them. The cliff's surface blazed bright, and driving the wargs back whimpering and thrashing as their fur lit or singed. Somehow, the fire never came close to their tree. Sylven could only assume Gandalf had some hand in it.

The orc pack roared in frustration, but the company cheered, shaking fists and crying out insults. Sylven wooped, grabbing an unlit pinecone and hucking it out into the fire. "Take that, baldy!"

Then the world shook, and from the roots came a mighty crack as they drew out from the soil, snapping taught like ropes as the tree fell then caught again, holding so it was perfectly level with the earth again. Sylven clung to a branch, legs dangling. She heard Ori bleat something, and then Dori wail, "Mr. Gandalf!" She didn't dare turn – her arms felt like something was dining on her muscles. She considered for the first time the damage that might have been caused, from begin yanked by a chain like a child's doll.

Then, from somewhere in the blackness came Thorin. The coals set his eyes aflame, and he walked like a man who'd come to his journey's final chapter. He walked through the fire, picking up speed. He took up a thick branch, wielding it like a shield. Azog lifted his arms up in welcoming, then crouched low. The warg launched, Thorin charged.

He went down in a crash as one of the claws caught him on the shoulder driving him into the dirt. He managed to get onto a knee as the warg spun and went for another round, and Thorin hoisted the shield. But not high enough. The mace caught him in the chest and threw him back. Fili screamed his name, and Balin cried out in agony for his king. The warg set upon Thorin, taking his arm in its mouth and biting down. Thorin screamed in pain and Dwalin tried to stand but his branch snapped and he swung dangerously low.

Sylven dug into the bark with her nails, trying to drag herself up. She stopped as Bilbo dashed across, jumping her arms as the warg threw Thorin. The pale orc turned to one of the others and said something, and the orc let out a sound of glee, swinging down from his mount. He began walking toward Thorin slowly, exalting in his helplessness. Thorin's arm scrabbled, trying to reach his sword laying too far away.

The orc placed its sword upon his neck, then drew it up high, ready for the final strike.

He was not ready for a hobbit though. Few ever were.

Yelling like a madman, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire tackled the orc. The two went down in a struggle, the orc rolling on top of him and lifting his arm to punch the little hobbit. The blue glow of Bilbo's swore drove into the monster's shoulder. It tried to get back, but Bilbo followed, rolling onto it instead and driving the blade into its stomach several times the orcs and wargs stood in astonishment.

He got up, stumbling over rocks as he hurried to get between Thorin's still body and the enemy. They began to assemble, looming over the tiny hobbit. Azog chuckled, speaking in orcish again as Bilbo swung his sword wildly, failing in massive proportions at looking menacing.

Bilbo did not stand alone.

The dwarves had done what any true to their king would have done. They'd climbed from the tree, dragging up those they could, and together they set upon the wargs they had hid from. Sylven would never have thought herself capable, but there she was, shrieking and sword baring and willingly approaching the deadly host.

She put all her weight behind her sword as a black warg launched for her, and she felt it lodge in its skull just before the thing landed onto her. The orc rider tumbled on ahead, and Sylven grimaced as the shoulder of the dying creature dug into her throat, blood spraying her.

She pushed with her free arm, rolling it as best she could so it moved onto her legs. She heard the orc's wild shout and rolled her upper body to left. The sword came down, lodging in the space she'd occupied. She grabbed for her sword, and tried to get it free as the orc yanked up the black iron and gave her what might have been a smile if his puffed up face hadn't twisted so wrongly. She saw it, in the black core of it's eyes. It didn't just want to kill her. It yearned for it – the idea was such a delight to the orc it could barely contain itself. It would watch the blood bubble up through her lips, and it would cheer.

That was true evil, she decided. That was irredeemable. That was how she met her end.

She felt sadness – not for herself. She knew plenty well that life was often short and cruel. But whatever waited, she knew she would dwell in desolation and weep. She wasn't ready to lose him.

Across flashed a blade, and the orc's chest opened like a spring flower. It staggered back, then keeled over with a little grunt. Kili stood, his bad arm against his chest as his sword at his side, wet with black. "Don't you touch her."

"Kili." She couldn't keep the relief from her voice. She sounded pathetic.

He knelt beside her, dropping his sword to shove the warg. "It's alright. You're alright. I need you to help me push."

She nodded, pushing with him to roll the dead thing off of her. She didn't remember crying, but as he pulled his arm around her she realized she was shaking. Too much death. She'd come too close. He stroked her hair, then said gently, "We need to help my uncle. You need to help him."

"Of course." She sniffed gruffly, wiping the tears. Everywhere they were fighting – now was not the time for this. She couldn't keep her hands steady, so she let Kili get her sword, pulling it from the skull by holding the head down with a boot. He handed it to her, then picked back up his own weapon and led the wave, weaving between burning trees and battles of dwarves and wargs.

They'd almost reached him, when there came the screech carried on the wind. The first one she only saw the feathers of, swooping in front of them, and clasping a warg in its massive talons, carrying it off. But then one latched onto a tree, wings pumping as it forced down the burning goliath, driving into the wargs that turned to flee. The animals knew these creatures on a baser level – the smell of something greater. Everywhere now the eagles came, swooping and snatching and stoking the fires with their wings. They began to pluck up dwarves – starting with the still form of Thorin. Kili watched the eagle fly over them.

Sylven couldn't help the noise that came from her mouth as from behind she was snatched, turned onto her side as she was carried off by scaly fingers. The wind tore away her shouting as she was dropped into the air, only to land on feathered shoulders. They were leaving – fleeing Azog who yelled after them in his tongue. She struggled wildly till she saw Kili and Fili on an eagle nearby, and only then was she able to focus on clinging to the creature as it carried them swiftly away. Away from danger, in directions lost to her. Alone but for the soft feathered beast, she allowed her body to slump as she held on round what one might have called the creature's shoulders. She lay her face into the silken feathers, and this time she was very aware of the shivering. She needed Kili to drive away the voice, that would ever be her company in the nightly hours.


	18. Chapter 18: A Prophecy Begins

They flew, till the mountains hid under snow, then further on till the green won out into vital lively forests. They sailed down a waterfall, into a bowl valley cupped in the mountains which formed a sort of U shape. At the center of the valley stood a massive rock, jutting up like a hand reaching for the sky. It was there the eagles placed them – Thorin first, then Gandalf and herself. Both ran to Thorin, Sylven slinging off her pack and yanking out her kit as Gandalf put a hand over the dwarvish king's face, murmuring words she could not make out.

She was about to reach forward to examine the damage when Gandalf drew back his hand, and Thorin's pale eyes flew wide. Gandalf and Sylven shared a collective sigh of relief as Thorin murmured, "The Halfling."

"It's alright, Bilbo is here. He's quite safe." Gandalf assured him as Sylven peeled back his coat, grimacing at the blood that had spread over the sides of his armour where the fangs had punctured. The fact that he was alive after the lengthy flight meant it was unlikely his body was about to shut off on him, but all the same she objected as he rolled onto his side, struggling to stand. Gandalf stood back and let it happen – Kili and Dwalin hurried forward to help Thorin rise. Hissing to herself Sylven stood, giving Kili a look as he shrugged apologetically.

"You." Thorin grunted, shaking Dwalin and Kili off as he eyed Bilbo, standing alone. Everyone else had gathered behind Thorin. Bilbo pushed his lips together nervously. "What were you doing?" Bilbo looked in confusion to Gandalf. "You nearly got yourself killed!"

Thorin began to nearly limp forward, his voice dark and angry. "Did I not say that you would be a burden. That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?"

Sylven opened her mouth to object but hesitated as Kili grabbed her hand.

She could not see Thorin's face, but the transformation of rage to elation in his voice was instant. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life."

He moved forward and embraced Bilbo, and while the dwarves grinned and hooted, Sylven found herself chuckling and Bilbo's face – still lost back at 'burden' and 'would not survive'. Slowly, a fragile joy broke out over his features as Thorin drew back, grabbing his arms. "I am sorry I doubted you."

"No, I would have doubted me to." Bilbo said quickly. "I'm not a hero, or a warrior. I'm not even a burglar."

They all lifted their heads to watch as the eagles circled round, pumping their behemoth wings and turning back the way they had come. Sylven tilted her head, and Kili spoke precisely what she was thinking. "Don't suppose they could take us all the way?"

"They are eagles, Kili, not horses." Gandalf seemed amused. "They will help, when the needed is paramount. But they do not simply ply themselves as mounts."

"Mores the pity." Sylven remarked, squeezing Kili's hand.

"Is that what I think it is?"

They all began to follow Bilbo and Thorin's staring, over the road still untraveled. They moved closer to the peak of the rock, and the dwarves fell into an awed quiet. Past tree and hill and plains, a single solitary mountain stood in the purple light of dawn. It was Gandalf who announced, "Erebor. The Lonely Mountain, the last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth."

"Our home." Thorin said it like a prayer, as if what was long ago stolen had already been returned. Sylven looked to Kili, and found he looked more curious than homesick. She wondered how much he remembered of that kingdom under stone, of nights with jewels for stars. A bird trilled overhead, swooping on it's journey toward the massive mountain.

"A raven!" Oin called, pressing a flattened ear trumpet to his ear. "The birds are returning to the mountain!"

"That my dear Oin, is a thrush." Gandalf grinned.

"Well we'll take it as a sign, a good omen." Thorin seemed now unbreakable in his hope.

Bilbo nodded resolutely. "You're right. I do believe the worst is behind us."

The company stood a while longer, before Thorin called, "We should get going – make it to the forest floor, and rest a while. Then we go – to Erebor."

As one the dwarves called out a dwarvish cheer. Sylven released Kili's hand to pick back up her kit, then jammed it in her bag. Thorin took the lead, as was only right, down a set of stairs carved in the rock. Together the party pressed on, away from wargs and goblins and orcs. It was easily midday by the time they reached the bottom, so Thorin conceded to make came right at the base of the rock. Stories of the fighting began to circulate as packs were thrown carelessly as worries. Sylven, found hers far less simple to drop. She moved away from Kili, approaching Thorin who had a hand braced on Dwalin's shoulder as they shared their eagerness to press on.

"I should look at your bites." She interrupted, her bag on one shoulder. Thorin turned, his face stiffening about the corners of his eyes.

"Very well." He consented reluctantly.

She shook her head in annoyance, and led him a little ways away, stopping at a tree who's roots had formed a complex system on the earth. It looked uncomfortable and bumpy. She waved to it vaguely. "Sit there."

He made a noise when he sat, his hand hovering over his chest. For a moment she forgot her childish pouting and stooped down, pulling his jacket back again and squinting. "I need you to take this all off – I'll have to clean it."

Thorin raised a brow – she guessed he was unaccustomed to being ordered. Not that she cared, but it was amusing to see him set it aside for reason. He shrugged out of the jacket, then undid his belt and shrugged off the tunic. When it came to his armour, however, he was forced to speak. "I'll need help with the buckles."

She looked up from organizing the chaos of all her equipment, then nodded. She'd already taken off her coat and cloak – it was much warmer here. She moved forward, leaning down to begin working open the series of straps running down his left side. Once that was done she moved around, helping him get it off from over his head. She dropped it on top of his coat dismissively, then added, "The shirt as well."

He hesitated, looking down at the holes in his black shirt. "Cannot you not simply -"

"If I don't get the cuts clean, they will fester. If they fester, you'll be oozing lumpy yellow puss and blood, you'll get a fever, and you'll likely die long before you have a chance to get your second round with the dragon." She said it all so quickly and flatly that she had no time to get sheepish. She almost felt like her old teacher. "Shirt off."

The speech won her no points in his heart, but he complied all the same. She wet down a strip off cloth and began to clean away the blood that had matted against his skin. As she worked, he sat in silence, looking away. Once she'd managed to clean most of it off, she took some time to judge the damage. The fangs of the white warg hadn't managed to dig into his back, but she could see the shape of the jowls in the pattern of the bite. At some point it must have shifted him in its mouth, judging by the second ring of punctures overlapping the first. Where the mace had struck, he had a massive blackening bruise forming. She lifted a hand, pushing against the area. He sucked in air sharply though his nose. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you didn't chip off any bits of bone." She admitted, working her fingers along his collar. She could feel at once the difference between his and a man's – the bones were thicker, broader. But clearly intact. There might be a crack in them, but nothing was going to puncture any of his insides if someone patted him too roughly on the chest.

"Your teacher is well known amongst your people?" He asked as she turned away, picking up the Elf's Cloth.

She shook her head. "Growing up in the manor I thought she'd lived half her life with ogres. No fame – just infamy. Apparently Gandalf knows her, though."

Thorin's jaw worked as she began to dab on the Elf's Cloth. "So he said."

She stopped her work, straightening and eyeing him. She lowered her hands into her lap. "Can we dispense with all this? Try to send me away, if you like. Insult me, tell me how even the hobbit is better suited for this journey than me. Please, do. Just stop being such a coward and say it, so we can go back to your hating me and me trying not to make an ass out of myself."

He didn't regard her until she spoke the word coward. As she pressed on, his brows drew lower and lower down his face. "You think I hate you?"

"You say that like it's silly!" She scoffed. "You banished me from this journey. I don't think you would have even taken me with you in the first place, if Gandalf hadn't pricked your pride."

"It was not pride that won you your place." Thorin scowled. "I would not leave a woman defenceless in the middle of the wild."

"Obligation, then." She huffed. "Either way you have never wanted me here."

"You distract Kili – he will get himself killed defending you."

"He will get himself killed trying to fight for your dream."

They sat, seething at each other.

"I would never let my nephew come to harm, so long as it is within my power." Thorin shook his head.

"Then why is he here, traveling to face a dragon for your home?" She challenged. "Erebor will never be his kingdom! Even if you do succeed, he will gain nothing from this. You fight for a throne. He fights for his love of you!"

Thorin's eyes grew wide. "You know nothing of what you speak."

"I know more than you think." She leaned forward, starting her work again and forcing herself not to jab into his cuts.

She was almost finished when he spoke. He'd calmed, and spoke cautiously. "You're in love with him."

Her eyes flickered up to his.

"Do you deny it?"

She smiled, her face carrying all the tied weight she felt. "Of course not. So I will follow him, no matter how much it angers you. I will face this massive evil, do all I can to see your task to competition. There is no where he could go that I would not follow him. Life without him would be…" She lifted her shoulders. "Well – it's not a life I'm capable of choosing. It's not a life at all."

He inclined his head slowly. "Your talents… your bravery… they do not go unseen."

"I'm glad of it." She wrapped up his chest, then put away the things quickly. She rose, stuffing the box under her arm. She moved to walk away, when he called out to her. She turned part way.

Thorin lifted a hand, pointing to the sword upon her hip. "Your blade… does it have a name?"

She shook her head stiffly.

"Perhaps King Slayer."

She almost barked a laugh. "Would you feel comfortable sleeping within reach of a sword called King Slayer."

"Perhaps it will help remind me, of what you're capable."

They held eye contact for a tense shiver of a moment.

"I won't let this quest claim his life."

Thorin nodded. "I will hold you to that."

She continued on, leaving him to dress in peace. The dwarves were already setting the pot over the fire, beginning to toss bits of vegetables and hunks of dried meat in. She called out to Bofur, and threw him one of the leaf wrapped breads from her bag.

She laughed as he unwrapped it, nose wrinkling at the hunk of elvish bread, then went over to Kili resting against a tree. He tilted his head, smirking as she stopped in front of him. "Off seducing my uncle with your numerous charms?"

"Well, I managed to get his shirt off." She remarked, sitting down beside him and dropping her things in a pile close to her. He stretched out his legs, and she rested her head on his lap looking above at the leaves. "I don't understand him."

Kili began stroking her hair. "Few do. Your still bloody, you know."

She flushed. She'd entirely forgotten – she hardly felt the pain of her face now. She tried to sit up but he stopped her. "I can do it."

He pulled out one of the cloth bundles, and wet it with his own waterskin. "Just lay back, you'll be free of goblin blood in no time."

"How comforting." She closed her eyes, which had grown heavy. Still it was oddly comforting, the soothing cool of the cloth cleansing her skin of the red and black blood. He was very gentle around where the skin was torn, so the stinging was minimal. She knew she should get up and apply all the necessities, but she was so very tired.

"Gandalf brought over your bedroll." He added. "Said to tell you you'd somehow managed to forget a few things when you ran off after us?"

She chuckled but didn't explain. After a while, when she was just on the edge of sleep, Kili asked, "What's changed?"

She opened her eyes, turning her head to get a better view of him. "What do you mean?"

"I saw the way you stared at my arm. You hardly blinked at Thorin's chest. Your tenser – more worried. Something has you on edge."

She averted her eyes, and he made a sound of victory. "Ah, see! I knew it. What's wrong?"

"Something – nothing." She shut her eyes again. "Just… words."

"What words? _Who's_ words?"

"A woman – an elf." She heard him make a noise of distaste. "She… helped me decide. She told me my future."

He snorted. "Oh really? Did she tell you if you let us go on and fail you'd have everything you wanted?"

She opened her eyes again, and this time she did sit up. She turned to examine him. "Yes, actually. And no… She told me what would happen if I chose to stay, and if I chose to go."

He seemed entertained. He set aside the cloth. "And what did she tell you?"

"That I could go home, if I stayed in Rivendell. That men from my home would come, and that I would marry one of them and have a family." She picked at the ground, feeling self-conscious.

"And if you came?"

"We would find each other. That we would have joy and sorrow…" She cleared her throat, and swallowed with difficulty. "And that I would come to a greater tragedy than I've ever suffered."

He lifted a hand to her cheek, and she pressed her face against his large palm, desperate for the comfort. "This really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does." She scoffed. "She wasn't lying, Kili."

"Elves lie all the time!" He said lightly. "They're nothing without their manipulation. Anyway, what defined the shift in your future?"

He waited till she answered.

"My choice."

"Exactly." He said calmly. "Choice. The future isn't a mountain, Sylven, it's constantly warped and changed by our wills – like metal in a forge. We decide what shape it takes."

He pulled her back down onto his lap, and she allowed herself to be comforted, even if she could not believe him. After a while, he frowned. "Wait. You believed all that… and you chose calamity and pain over children and home?"

Her eyelids hung low over her eyes, sleep tugging at her. "I'm sure I mentioned at some point I'm simple minded?"

Kili prodded her with his leg, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You gave up the life you wanted to be with me?"

She grimaced. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Oh by the stone, yes."

"Wherever you are, that's where I want to be."

He grinned, and she pushed herself up slightly to meet his lips as he leaned down to kiss her. His lips parted hers gently, teasing at her, luxuriating in her confession. She pulled away, looking at him expectantly. "If you don't start explaining you feel the same, this is going to get quite awkward you know."

"Oh, unfortunate, I'm entirely indifferent to you." He cackled as she punched him, then used her closeness to get his arms round her. She squirmed, giggling and threatening to bite him if he didn't let go.

"Fine, fine!" He relented. She stilled, waiting. "I was a desolate mess without you – ask Fili, he was ready to go back himself and get you."

She nuzzled against him. "Thank you, very satisfying."

He shuffled till she was against his chest, then drew up his legs so she could be comfortable as she settled in. "I'm not going anywhere you can't follow. I promise."

"That's easily said." She said, her voice heavy with weariness. She needed rest, and at last she felt she could have it. "I'll follow you anywhere."

"Good." He really did sound relieved. "Now get some sleep – there's still plenty of walking to do."

She drifted off to the sound of his breathing, and the laughing and bragging of dwarves. Somewhere Bilbo was settling down contentedly to listen to Ori talk about a goblin he'd gutted, while Thorin joined Dwalin and Balin discussing how many wargs they'd killed. The smell of Gandalf's pipe weed mixed with the sizzling of cooking food, and with him so close Sylven could smell the addictive sent of her love holding her close. She was certain now, that the elf had been correct in this at least. This was joy. This was true, honest joy.


End file.
